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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28237740">The Space Inside</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wishinguwerehere33/pseuds/Wishinguwerehere33'>Wishinguwerehere33</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Conflicted Will, M/M, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Protective Hannibal, Some angst but not a huge amount because Hannibal and Will just need to be together, Violence, reunited</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:14:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>39,708</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28237740</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wishinguwerehere33/pseuds/Wishinguwerehere33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Will wakes up in hospital after falling to what should have been his death with Hannibal, and now has to piece his life back together.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So I really need to write a Hannibal fanfic in order to channel my obsession somewhere before I implode. This is my first fic, so any feedback would be really appreciated (especially seeing as I'm not too sure where the story is going at the moment, I just need to smirfkalgsdldknjbfs!!!)</p><p> </p><p>I hope you enjoy ;) ;)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Will feels a strong stability, both physical and metaphysical, grounding him in the moment. The stability is almost haunting, not in its presence - which is beautiful in it’s familiar unfamiliarity, but instead due to its absence in every other instant of his life prior to this point. Will is overwhelmed by the realization of his becoming, and the willingness in which he succumbs to it, a willingness that he never thought he could muster, but now in the moment comes more easily than breathing.<br/>
Will clutches at Hannibal, grasping him in a silent plea to remain here with him, but his plea is superfluous; Hannibal is not retreating, he is steadfast, holding his ground against any obstacle thrown towards them, casting both elemental and intangible furies aside as if they were nothing more than children's toys. Hannibal is stable. </p><p>“This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For both of us.”</p><p>Through the places where the pads of Will’s fingers are digging into the soft contours of Hannibal's clothing he can feel the vibrations of the latter's voice, resonating throughout every fibre of his body before escaping his lips. Will decides that Hannibal's voice is golden - rich and flowing. He ponders whether, if he listened too hard, he would himself turn into gold - much like King Midas.<br/>
Will raises his pale eyes to meet the dark maroon ones, and in doing so wonders why he ever avoided eye contact with Hannibal. The breaths of both men rasp out in short bursts. Will is overwhelmed with the intensity of it all - his aching limbs, Hannibal's loaded words, his own becoming - until the moment when he isn’t. Warmth radiates out from Hannibal's body, and his gaze is pleading as he silently cries out for Will to finally understand it all without turning his high horse around and leaving again. Hannibal's warmth and imploring stare allow Will to see this moment with calming clarity, cleaving him of his nerves. </p><p>“It’s beautiful.”</p><p>And it is. It’s beautiful. And it belongs to Will. And it belongs to Hannibal. The following flashing reverence of Hannibal’s eyes quickly becomes too much for Will to process, and he lays his head down against Hannibal’s chest to hear his rhythmic heartbeat instead. Before today Will would have been taken aback by its steadiness after their previous physical exertion, but tonight it makes perfect sense to him. Hannibal is stable. He is unwavering in his desire to exist. In this moment Will truly believes that the thrumming of Hannibal's heart could never cease, and this realization is terrifying. It’s with this thought, lingering within the bone arena of his skull, that Will shifts his balance, tipping them over the edge of their cliff. Hannibal follows without resistance, perhaps like Will he has just realized their indestructibility, though Will supposes he has always known. Will doesn’t register the deathly solid impact of their bodies hitting the water's surface. In fact from this moment onward he registers very little, other than the grace of slipping through the water, still impossibly encased within Hannibal's arms. The water becomes less and less turbulent the deeper they sink down. Will has never felt peace like this. </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Will feels compression against his chest. Indeed he feels it from all sides, in every direction, pinning him in place as if a trapped thing, but mainly he feels it upon his chest. It feels as if his ribs are being pressed down, molding into the tissues of his lungs. What should be the separate anatomical parts of his body are caving into a singular sheet of muscle and bone. </p><p>Will is surprised at the calmness he experiences despite this state of collapse. He drifts in and out of consciousness, one minute indifferently aware of his imprisonment and the next slipping back out from under whatever state of awareness seems to be hanging over him. In his brief moments of groggy cognizance he thinks that if he could only rise a fraction of a millimetre upwards he could break out of his haziness, yet doesn’t feel any urgency to do so. He drifts peacefully like this in and out for what seems like a boundless measure of time, simultaneously experiencing without thinking, and without feeling any desire to understand.<br/>
Occasionally he might hear voices, sometimes clearly, sometimes not so much, but while they register somewhere within the base of his skull they never penetrate far enough to warrant any interest from Will. The one idea that perhaps occurs to him is that he must be underwater, as such a calm and all-encompassing presence couldn’t possibly exist anywhere else. And this makes sense to Will. </p><p>For what seems like the first instance in an impossible stretch of time Will finally takes a breath, or at least registers the action of doing so. As the exhalation leaves his lungs it must snag on to whatever dull mist was numbing his body and carry it away, because he registers a spreading pain beginning to thicken in his limbs. It happens languidly enough that Will, his brain finally forming fairly cohesive thoughts, has time enough to anticipate the agony before it arrives, and to mourn the loss of his peaceful state as it slips from his senses. And then Will’s entire body is suddenly throbbing, each pulsation sending sharp pains from the tips of tingling toes to the brown curls of his scalp and the compression upon his chest finally ignites a sense of panic. Will tries to push up against it to no avail, the weight being so great that somewhere within his hysterical mind he wonders how he has survived this long. His breaths become sharp pants, which bring about a new pain, ice-cold and slowly stabbing with each inhale. The freezing air that Will sucks into his lungs however doesn’t fill them with liquid, meaning that Will couldn’t possibly be submerged in water as he previously assumed, a realization that intensifies his growing panic. Will feels out of place in the harsh dryness of this land-lock. </p><p>The increasing anxiety coursing through Will’s mind reaches a peak, finally growing beyond the captivities of his skull casing and expressing itself as a physical response, sending a jolt through his body. Will’s eyes fly open and his torso folds in on itself as he lurches upright. The motion both tugs at his skin from multiple points on his arms and chest, and seemingly initiates a rapid series of beeping noises. At first all Will can register visually is an obtrusive brightness that repeatedly dulls and intensifies as he rapidly blinks.<br/>
Will’s other senses however have more speedily attuned themselves. Alongside the beeping noise he can hear hurried footsteps and equally hurried voices, soon joined by hands pushing him down, holding him still. Will’s sight clears enough to take in his immediate surroundings. He is lying horizontally in a bed enclosed by plastic railings. The pulling sensation against his chest and forearms is due to the multitude of tubes running from his flesh to the machines standing either side of him, from one of which rings the incessant beeping noise. 

As far as Will can tell there are no windows, but the whole room is painted and furnished in white, and the glaring light emitted by three bulbs above him are enough to fill the entire space with garish brightness. There is a sturdy plastic chair pushed hard up against the opposite wall about five meters away from where Will is lying, and above it hangs a colourfully patterned calendar. Though Will has only had a few seconds to assume his surroundings, he notes the calendar clearly as out of place - as if someone had too-late realized that the room was so white and bare that it could pass as the waiting room to heaven itself, and thus haphazardly adorned one pale wall with the garishly patterned calendar in a half-hearted attempt to brighten the place up. ‘February’, Will thinks it reads.<br/>
Other than the chair, calendar, a clock (too small and far away to read), and a faded grey-yellow painting of a lake on the wall to Will’s right, the room is empty outside the space immediately around him. Within that space however is the chaos of four figures clad in blue scrubs bustling around him, tweaking at various monitors and bags of red and white liquids.<br/>
If he squints, Will can make out the fine details of the faces hovering over him, and the figures that are fidgeting with the machine to his left. Hospital. Fuck. The thoughts slide sluggishly into place, but don't do much to sooth his dread. This feels like the wrong location to be, there’s something missing that he can’t yet place, somewhere more important than this. The people - nurses - above him are trying to communicate with him, a cacophony of deep, would-be-soothing voices calling out his name, asking him how he feels. Will ignores them, turns his head to the side, and watches his own fluctuating heartbeat on a screen as he lets his instinct to escape take over, allowing darkness to once again pull him into unconsciousness. Hannibal, he realizes. That’s where he should be. He should be somewhere with Hannibal. </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>The next time Will’s mind forces him into awareness the pain is duller, yet still present enough to force a groan from between his dry lips. Every inch of his skin feels unnaturally dry and tight. He winces as his eyes open and adjust once again to the brightness of the hospital room, which, while still unusually bleached, does not trigger the sensory overload that it had previously. Will takes a deep breath, noting the lack of pain he registers as he inhales. He glances once again over to the calendar. Still February. Will makes a risky guess that in that case he hasn’t lost too much time since his last awakening, though this would mean that he’s likely been pumped full of drugs since then, as he highly doubts the pain would have reduced so quickly otherwise. </p><p>Before Will has time to gather his thoughts any further however a door to the far left corner of the room slides open, from which appears a tall, willowy woman clad in blue scrubs and a white coat that falls just above her knees. She has dull auburn hair pulled back flat against her scalp into a bun at the nape of her neck, which looks almost painfully twisted into place. The woman has full lips and a small pointed nose upon which is balanced a pair of square glasses. As Will observes her he becomes aware that he naturally assumes that her nose sports a cluster of freckles. She takes firm, calculated strides into the room. Everything about her feels practical and unassuming. Will decides he is not opposed to her presence. The woman glaces in Will's direction and her movement ceases three paces in from the doorway, though other than this she shows no surprise at his being awake. </p><p>“Mr Graham.” </p><p>Her acknowledgement of him is followed by a brief pause, as if waiting for him to reply to this simple utterance, after which she glides over to the end of his bed, retrieving the clipboard hanging from the railing to scribble upon as she continues to speak. </p><p>“It’s good to see you awake finally. My name is Dr Ivanov. How are you feeling?”</p><p>Will appreciates the simplicity of her speech, communication without wasted words. He jerks his head in response, trying and failing to also produce an affirmative grunt, which asserts itself as more of an unconvincing wheeze. Will wonders how long it’s actually been since he last used his voice properly, not feeling very optimistic as he tries to guess. Dr Ivanov however smiles in response - only a small tight curl of her lip, but her eyes affirm the kind gesture. She glides over to Will’s right side and her eyes skim over the meaningless numbers scrawled upon one of his many monitors. </p><p>“I would imagine that you are feeling antsy to start moving Mr Graham after so long being sedentary, but for now please try and remain still. All damage has been repaired for the most part, though it’s not worth the risk of extending the remainder of your healing process here unnecessarily.”</p><p>Will frowns at the number of questions her suddenly allusive statements have conjured up. Despite clearing his throat a few times, his voice still comes out raspy, sounding more like that of an old weathered man upon his death bed than one barely in their 30’s. </p><p>“How long?”</p><p>Dr Ivanov’s eyes flick over to meet his own - which he averts without thinking - as if taken aback by his query.</p><p>“Mr Graham?”</p><p>“How long have I been sedentary?”</p><p>The lines of Dr Ivanov’s young face deepen fractionally, in concern perhaps?</p><p>“It has been just over 4 months since you were admitted here, after sustaining severe acute trauma.” As an afterthought she adds, “It has been a tedious healing process Will, but you’ve healed. Well enough in fact for the more spiritually minded to believe it to be a miracle”. </p><p>Her switch to using his first name suggests sympathy. Will assumes she must have been working here at least long enough to follow his recovery. She continues to bustle around the room, and Will considers asking her what specific injuries he sustained, however the mental effort of their simple conversation had seemingly already drained him of his energy, and he is thankful when she leaves after only a few minutes of silent fussing, allowing him to sleep. </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>A full month drags by after Will’s first awakening before he is allowed to leave the hospital, his extended recovery period largely due to Will’s unwillingness to rest. Whenever he closes his eyes, his final moments with Hannibal play out behind his eyelids seemingly on a loop. At first, when he was still excessively pumped full of pain killers, these melancholy thoughts were welcome. Will could almost convince himself that he was still standing on the edge of the cliff, shielded from the confusions of the outside world by Hannibal's lean form.<br/>
As Will began to once again perceive his reality with increasing lucidity however the memory began to eat away at him, and he therefore did all he could to avoid sleep. At least in consciousness he could distract himself with other worries, whereas his sleeping mind seemed to have it’s own agenda - that being to torment Will. He felt regret - regret that on the cliffs edge he had allowed himself to delve as always into his ever-whirring thought processes instead of honing in on his senses. 

Will could no longer recall what Hannibal's shirt felt like wrinkled between his fingers, despite clinging to it for dear life, couldn’t remember the exact articulations of his words or the feel of his hair as Will ran his hand through it seconds before their fall. What's more, Will doesn’t know how to begin processing his emotions, in part because he isn’t sure he even understood them in the first place. He had been uncertain what his motives were for sending them over the cliff’s precepase even as he initiated their descent. He had needed to regain a sense of control amidst a set of circumstances that had slipped further and further from his reach, however whether he intended his own death, Hannibal's, or both is unclear to him. What is clear to Will is that this resulting outcome had never crossed his mind. If there was one thing that Will had fully accepted on that night it was that he could no longer separate himself from Hannibal, yet here he was. First Hannibal left, then Will did, and now fate itself seemed to have intervened to separate them a third time. Will has always been acutely aware of the inner workings of his own mind, so this uncertainty was all-consuming on an all new level.<br/>
Worst of all however is the ever-present dread caused by Hannibal's absence. Will has learned enough to know that Hannibal hasn’t been sighted by anyone save himself since his escape from the FBI. Will almost can’t bring himself to fathom that Hannibal had done anything other than swim to shore, and make a speedy escape to some foreign land, however far more possible was that in a state of unconsciousness he had finally released his grip on Will, and had been demolished by the ocean. Hannibal's death was a concept that Will found himself unable to seriously consider sanely. If Hannibal is dead then Will is alone. And if Hannibal has run free, then he has left Will behind. </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Will is discharged from the hospital on the 25th March. He doesn’t have any possessions to pack up and haul outside with him. The only material belongings found on him when he was rushed to surgery were the clothes on his back, which were decidedly too bloody and torn at that point to salvage.<br/>
He is instead provided with a standard white cotton T-shirt, faded blue jeans, and black slip-on shoes before he leaves. The garments feel scratchy and heavy against his skin after weeks of flimsy hospital gowns. Some part of Will feels deeply skeptical as he walks towards the hospital entrance, as if his exit feels somehow too simple. For the nurses and doctors that cared for him over the past few months, Will’s absence is simply another success story - another patient brought back from death's door - but Will however has not allowed himself to think beyond the hospital until now, and his departure feels heavier than it should.<br/>
As long narrow hallways open out into the hospital's large, cheaply furnished foyer, Will’s gaze falls immediately upon a figure sitting in the middle of a row of grey chairs on the far side of the room, almost as if his very being had been hardwired to respond to the presence of the seated individual:</p><p>Jack Crawford glances up to meet Will’s gaze from across the room, which feels to Will at this moment to cover an expansive distance. Will hadn’t received a single visitor (unless unbeknownst to him anyone had bothered to call upon his sleeping self early after he was first admitted), during the entirety of his stay at the John Hopkins Hospital, yet here stood Jack now, as sullen and looming as always.<br/>
Will takes a few moments to duck his head, eyes landing upon his soleless shoes, and assess his reaction to seeing Jack. He decides this feeling is indifference - a notion that is gradually becoming Will’s standard reaction to all the empty aspects of his life that usually would have meant more to him. None of it seems important, in the same way that the old and enlightened look back on their childhood aspirations with dulled nostalgia. Though Will doesn’t feel enlightened, and his reminiscing feels less like nostalgia and more like unresolved confusion.  </p><p>Will peers back up at Jack, who hasn’t moved from his spot in the corner, and has instead turned to face Will, with what Will assumes must be an expression of expectancy. Will internally rolls his eyes - of course Jack isn’t going to diminish his air of authority by initiating their inevitable approach. He briefly considers walking straight past Jack towards the exit, leaving Jack to decide whether to scurry after him like a lost puppy, or maintain his dignity and try to establish contact on a later date. Will feels the first twinge of amusement since he woke up, but resigns to once again ducking his eyes and shuffling over to Jack's position in the shadows. Jack, after-all, is intrinsically good under all the layers of surly self-importance, and whatever dregs of the old Will that remain compel him to align himself with this goodness. Jack doesn’t deserve to bear the brunt of Will’s conflicted emotions and accusations. Will doesn’t give too much more thought to this conclusion, as he knows how easy it would be for him to change his mind, and decide that Jack does indeed deserve every ounce of accusation thrown his way. </p><p>Jack inclines his head good naturedly when Will reaches him.</p><p>“Will.”</p><p>“Jack.”</p><p>The solidly-built man twitches with the beginning of a greeting, and for a second Will is unsure whether Jack is going to hug him or shake his hand. On second thought, he doesn’t think Jack is sure either. After a few seconds of uneasy deliberation Jack seems to decide on the latter, and holds out a large hand for Will to grasp, who has to hold back a cringe as he unwillingly absorbs the tail end of Jack’s obvious awkwardness.<br/>
Will clears his throat in an effort to chase away a few moments of tense silence. He is usually quite happy to counter the advances of conversation from many a person with silence - which more often than not allows Will to wallow in his thoughts and judgements while consequently ridding himself of whatever unwanted company has unfortunately tried to address him, who predictably become rather uncomfortable at his noiselessness. Jack on the other hand has seemingly always had the frustrating ability to leave Will feeling guilty about his dismissive escapes from social interaction. Luckily for Will however, Jack himself despises uneasy quietness, and breaks this one with an apology.</p><p>“Sorry not to have visited earlier; We’ve been busy at the FBI, what will our current situation and all. And if I’m being perfectly honest I didn’t want to bother you before you’d made a full recovery.”</p><p>Jack looks proud of himself for his ability to work his consideration of Wills health into his justifications, and Will bites back his tongue so as not to point out that in no way is he fully recovered. Admittedly Will’s physical injuries had for the most part mended, other than a slight twinge in his chest where he had been stabbed. His mental state however was probably questionable. Not that his psyche had been anything resembling stable over the last few years. Instead of expressing his dubiousness, Will simply inclines his head in acceptance of the apology. He also notes that Jack clumsily avoids directly mentioning Hannibal, though Will doubts that ‘ our current situation and all’ refers to anything other than Hannibal's newfound freedom and unknown whereabouts. Jack sucks in a deep breath in the dramatic preparation of another sentence after realizing that Will isn't going to respond. Will crosses his fingers from where they lie in the pockets of his jeans for anything other than a disciplinary speech. To his surprise Jack lets him off the hook all too easily.</p><p>“So anyway, I just wanted to catch you before you disappeared. I was hoping you would stop into the office before too long, just to talk things over.” Jack meets Will’s eyes, apparently feeling the need to communicate that this is less a request, and more of a demand. “There’s a lot to talk about Will.”</p><p>Will raises his hand behind his head , part stretch and part scratch, and sighs. </p><p>“Yeah, I guess there is. Thanks Jack.”</p><p>Jack acknowledges his thanks (though in hindsight Will wonders what he was actually thankful for) with a sharp nod of his head, followed by yet another awkward pause.</p><p>“Well then, I’ll let you get back to your…” he gestures around absently to indicate all the many things that Will now has to get back too, “...and I’ll see you back in the office before too long. You know my number.”</p><p>Will raises the corners of his mouth in a tight lipped smile (which, judging by his track record, is likely more of a grimace), and his eyes follow Jack as he strides out of the hospital as if the whole world depended on it. </p><p>Will waits a few minutes so as not to bump into Jack as he leaves, and then trudges outside to hail a cab.<br/>
He deliberately focuses on the task at hand - the priority being to find a place to stay - and only the task at hand, not yet ready to address anything but. </p><p>It’s raining outside, and the chilly droplets soak through his shirt and into his shoes.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Will travels home, looking for any clues that Hannibal has tried to re-enter his life.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Will is able to secure a room in an old run-down motel on the outskirts of Baltimore. <br/>The run-down flaky sign outside of the hostel should have read ‘Angus’ Motel’, but by sheer dumb luck the painted ‘g’ had deteriorated faster than the other letters, resulting in the ‘Anus’ Motel’. Will thinks this is all too appropriate. </p><p>“Fuck you too”,  he mutters in the general direction of the universe.</p><p>The living space is stuffy and the wardrobe smells of mothballs and sweat. He couldn’t care less. </p><p>Will’s first act after unlocking the door to his new residence - his new singular room if he was being pedantic - is to change out of the hospital clothes, which smell of cleanliness and drugs. During the taxi ride here he had stopped off to retract a couple of hundred dollars from a nearby ATM, and proceeded to buy a pair of navy blue slacks, a dark woolen coat that fell to just below his knees, a couple of stiff collared shirts, and a pair of black derby shoes. </p><p>The only other time in his life when he’d sported such garb was during his search for Hannibal in Italy, however Will deliberately avoided overthinking this happenstance. <br/>The garments were so unlike the old flannel jeans and tough leather boots that had made him feel at home in the past, but the notably more formal attire now provided him with a sense of security. Will had never been one to splurge on materialistic desires, so had money to spare. He also brought a simple yet tasteful leather watch and a new phone. </p><p>Will now sits on the end of the creaky bed in the far corner of his room, staring at his phone. After years of bowing to Jacks every whim, including being on call 24-7 during his complicated employment with the F.B.I, he has Jacks number memorized, and his fingers hover over the touch-pad. </p><p>Will isn’t opposed to meeting with the authoritarian man. He hasn’t yet gathered all the details of that fateful evening, and the F.B.I may have a little insight into Hannibal's fate. Indeed, whether or not Will contacts Jack himself, he is sure that the F.B.I would contact him eventually, and likely sooner rather than later. Whether or not they have caught onto his involvement in the death of Francis Dolarhyde, he obviously has something to do with the bloody ordeal and they would need to question him. <br/>Will is shocked in fact that they haven’t already tried to do so. Considering Jack's elevated position within the organization he guesses that Jack knows how easily frightened off Will would become as a result of any direct confrontation, and the questioning will most likely take place when he calls in to pay Jack a visit. Jack isn’t stupid - he knows that letting Will believe that he is making the decision to reestablish contact with the F.B.I will make him far more likely to open up. </p><p>All Will’s burning questions however feel secondary, and he has a hard time believing that the F.B.I have uncovered any information on Hannibal's whereabouts, if he is alive. So really, Will has nothing to say to Jack. <br/>He turns off his phone and shoves it in his pocket. A moment later he retrieves it and calls another cab. </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>The taxi pulls up outside the hostel 20 long minutes later, and the driver doesn’t even attempt to acknowledge Will as he slides into the back seat. </p><p>“Wolf Trap, Virginia.”</p><p>Again the driver refuses to react, other than to look slightly pissed off at the length of a 50 or so minute drive, but pulls the car out slowly onto the road. Honestly Will would rather sullen driver than a chatty one any day. </p><p>When Will moved in with Molly and Walter a small part of him hadn’t quite been able to rid himself of his old house in Wolf Trap, so had rented it out to a couple of young hunters. At the time he told himself that this arrangement would bring in more money in the long run than simply selling it. He isn’t sure at his reasoning for going back there now. </p><p>Will recognizes that, without dedicating any serious conscious thought to the matter, his instincts are to find Hannibal, if Hannibal is out there to find. His old life seems like as good a place as any to begin that impossible task. </p><p>Will knows that at this point he can’t possibly pick up where he left off before all this shit restarted, especially not with Molly. It hadn’t gone unnoticed that Molly hadn’t visited Will during his long recovery, which Will has taken as an unconventional ‘Fuck off’.</p><p>Will also knows that he can’t successfully stitch up the fabric of his even earlier existence as a teacher with the F.B.I. If they’d even let him back, he wasn’t the same lawful enforcer of justice that he had been. The previously well distinguishable lines between degeneracy and righteousness had begun to blur in his mind, and he doesn’t think he can continue to rely on his carefully constructed moral compass to ignore his deeper desires. </p><p>The singular thing that he is certain of is that the only next step that won’t leave him rotting away into nothingness is to discover Hannibal’s fate, and if it’s possible, to find him. The searing and terrifying possibility of Hannibal's death has begun in the pit of Will’s stomach, but has now grown to fill every cavity of his body, giving him a constant and pulsing headache. Will feels as if it is his own life that he isn’t sure still exists, as if the realization of Hannibal's demise will send Will himself sinking deep into the ground, buried and lifeless. </p><p>
  <em>You and I have begun to blur</em>
</p><p>On the other hand, Will isn’t sure what he’ll do if he tracks down a living Hannibal. Kill him, eat him, join him. At this point though he doesn’t need to know. He simply has to follow his instincts, and then perhaps they will instruct him further when the time comes. </p><p>
  <em>We’re conjoined. I’m curious whether either of us can survive separation</em>
</p><p>How willing he had been, they had both been, to toy with such sensitive forces, as if they had imagined that they could observe and experience such emotions without doing either of them genuine harm. Will allows himself to admit that <em>Hannibal</em> had doubtlessly appreciated the full implications and ramifications of such a separation, ones which Will could then have only guessed at. Only now was Will finally beginning to understand. </p><p>Will rests his forehead against the plastic window of the taxi, the movement of the vehicle upon the increasingly uneven road causing vibrations to buzz against his head. This only worsens his headache, however Will persists with the uncomfortable position as it makes it harder to think.<br/>He observes as the grey, dismal concrete columns of Baltimore taper off into the wide open fields of the countryside, and a scrap of calm edges it’s way into his subconscious, lengthening his breaths and smoothing some of the wrinkles in his forehead.</p><p>The driver interrupts his wandering thoughts only twice, once to ask for specific directions to his place of destination, and a second time to warn him that his shift finishes in under 30 minutes, so Will will have to organised another ride back to Baltimore if he wants to return. </p><p>After what feels like only a few minutes, the taxi drags itself up the dirt covered driveway to Wills old house. Will feels a quiet unsteadiness at seeing the building again after so long. His driver has enough patience to pause for less than a minute before twisting his torso around to grace Will with a well practiced glower. </p><p>“Look mate, I have places to be so if this is your stop I’d appreciate it if we could part ways here.”</p><p>Will steels himself and holds out a $50 note in the drivers general direction, before scotching out of the car and firmly closing the car door on what is no doubt a more apologetic farewell from the driver after receiving the decent tip. Will isn’t rewarding the standoffish behavior however (though he would be a hypocrite to spite it), he simply wants to be left alone. </p><p>He haltingly begins to cross the short distance towards his - the - front door. The house’s white paint job (that had taken him weeks to apply himself after he moved in in his early 20’s and touched up frequently ever since) has started to peel off in large flakes. One or two of the porches floorboards have been pulled up and now reveal narrow holes through to the insect ridden space below. Will has to lean his shoulder against the door in order to push it open, as the door handle is missing. </p><p>The first thing he notices as he tentatively steps inside is the dull pang that hits him in the gut as he registers the absence of his dogs. They had always been so eager to please when he arrived home, jumping up to greet him with lopsided smiles and friendly growls as he tried to push through the door. Every time Will had considered chiding them on their lapse in behavior, however his scoldings had always fallen short, as their obvious adoration never failed to brighten what had most likely been a draining day. Now however Will is greeted by nothing but stillness. A warm light strays through the windows, which are missing shards of glass from multiple panes, and catches the dust particles which shiver suspended in the air in scarily high concentrations.</p><p>Will had left most of his old furniture in the house when he started renting it out, wanting as best he could to start over with Molly. Despite this, little of his old belongings remain, and the few that have are looking worse for wear. He had thrown out his good leather chair after it was exposed to bits of Mason Verger’s face and dribbles of blood, yet his cream coloured chair in the opposite corner still occupies it’s familiar space, though the colour now shares a closer resemblance to dirty milk, and the stuffing is leaking out of it in one or two places. <br/>His bed also remains, bar one leg, and so do his bookcases, bar multiple nails, causing the once fixed shelves to zig zag down at odd orientations, though they still hold a dozen old books. A number of Will’s old ornaments lay strewn around the floor, as well as at least 20 or so beer bottles (not Will’s), and a dozen cigarette butts are nestled within the stone fireplace (also not Will’s). He avoids scrutinizing the piano, as he doesn’t even want to think about his beloved instrument sitting there in the same destroyed state as the rest of his few belongings. In short the place is a wreck. <br/>Will concludes that his tenants had exhausted the house's resources until they became bored with the solitary lifestyle and abandoned the place in a hurry so as to escape paying off the last of their rent. It’s his own fault, Will thinks. He rented it out in a rush, not wanting to dwell on the memories it held, one of the last of which had been Hannibal's arrest. </p><p>After reaching his destination Will is hit with the awareness of how utterly exhausted he really is, so lowers himself into the sinking mattress of his ancient sheetless bed and blacks out almost immediately. </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>After 3 hours of solid sleep Will startles awake, not for once as a consequence of an insidious nightmare. He reaches up with stiff limbs to rub his eyes. He feels as if he’s steadily congealing. <br/>Will swings weary legs over the side of the bed and it wobbles with the movement, reminding him that it’s now only held up on three sides. Will stands and begins instinctually stumbling towards the kitchen for coffee, only to realize that any coffee that he finds would be way way too old to consume, and instead veers off in the direction of the staircase, deciding to inspect the rest of the house as a distraction from his drowsiness. </p><p>There is a long mirror leaning against the wall opposite the top of the stairs. The mirror had been shoved to the back of a superfluous wardrobe when Will had first occupied the house, but for some reason the tenants have dragged out into the corridor. <br/>Will is confronted with his reflection, and for once allows himself to pause and scrutinize the figure staring back at him. Will immediately realizes that he forgot to remove any of his clothes before falling asleep, as the rim of his shirt has consequently shuffled up over the edge of his pants, both of which are now wrinkled. The heavy material of his coat however has fallen back into place naturally. His hair is obscenely ruffled, half because he hasn’t dragged a comb through it since leaving the hospital, yet also because of its length, which has reached the nape of his neck. He is also sporting a decent amount of scruff along his jaw and over his upper lip and chin. <br/>As Will blinks the bleary morning sheen from his eyes he is taken aback by the lack of self awareness that he has carried with him up to this point, as now is the first time he notices the scar across his right cheek. He flexes his fingers slightly and raises his arm to run them across the raised skin. Will moves closer to the mirror, inspecting the uneven tissue with morbid curiosity. The scar has a subtle silver-shiny quality to it. It accentuates his right cheekbone in that the skin is fractionally indented just below the bone, and the scar itself runs along the edge of it. </p><p>Will is painfully aware of the indifference, and perhaps even slight satisfaction, that he experiences as he peers into the mirror. He used to avoid his reflection like the plague, unwilling to face the conflict reflected back within his eyes, as if it would force him to address the part of himself that had always been repressed. Now the look in his eyes stirs a sense of uneasiness in Will, partly because the orbs no longer reflect the same confliction back at him, and partly because his initial reaction to this self acceptance  been one of satisfaction. Will can barely recognize the unwavering expression of identity in his grey-blue eyes as his own. With a shiver he steps away from the mirror.</p><p>Upstairs the house is much the same as below - dusty, partially intact and even so grubbied and in some places all but mutilated. Will feels little remorse however, aside from an oil painting of the harbour which has fallen onto the floor and is stained grey in patches with an oily substance. Will had purchased the painting when he first moved in after stumbling across it tucked away at the back of a garage sale. It reminds him of the few years of his youth when his childhood was happy - fixing old boats with his dad and fishing off the side of the barnacle encrusted wharf before his father lost his  job and life had soured. Will removes the fabric canvas from its broken casing and carries it back downstairs to the kitchen to wipe it off with an old rag. He then cautiously folds it up and slips it into his coat pocket.</p><p>Will’s heart drops at the lack of clarity shed by his old home. He hasn’t registered until now how much hope had built up inside that something would stand out as important, that Hannibal would somehow be waiting for him, bustling around the kitchen and fretting over Will’s sickly state and the obvious dismissive attitude that he has towards his place of dwelling. The fragments of Will’s overactive imagination have turned this impossibility into a possibility in his mind, and he feels crushed at his stupidity. Of course Hannibal couldn’t come here. The place could have been swarming with FBI from anywhere between hours and weeks after his escape from police custody. Will just wants to leave. Though the practical half of him decides he is in desperate need of a shower first. </p><p>Will slips his coat from his shoulders as he plods towards the bathroom, hanging it and the rest of his new clothes from a nail wedged into the top of the door. He briefly wonders about pressing the shirt under his mattress, before wincing at the grubbiness of the bed and deciding against it, while chiding himself fiercely for sleeping upon the mattress without removing his clean clothes.</p><p>The few trickles of water that dribble down from the shower head are bracingly cold, yet it wakes Will fully. He finds a bar of soap, ignoring the part of him that wonders whether soap itself can grow filthy, and slathers his skin and hair with bubbles. Running his hand down his abdomen, he finds another patch of raised tissue pinching the soft skin of his hip. This stab wound was deeper, and therefore the scar itself is far more prominent, than the one adorning his cheek. So Dolarhyde had left him two mementos. </p><p>Lacking a clean towel, Will simply sinks to the floor to wait out the drying droplets on his body after turning off the water, his mind blank and miserable, before dressing again and hunting around for a pair of scissors. He uses them to trim his facial hair and shorten the tresses behind his neck back to an acceptable length, squinting at his reflection through the small mucky bathroom mirror. His strides into the living room are ever so slightly more purposeful than his trudge to the bathroom had been. </p><p>Will finally allows himself to spare a glance at his precious piano. His piano and his dogs and his river - they had been his three forms of escape from the chaos that was the outside world. Reluctantly he paces over to it, running his scarred hand across the grainy wood and along once polished keys. A book has been placed on top of the instrument, it’s cover removed, leaving its black front cover mysteriously title-less. Will decides that the book has been placed, rather than discarded, as it is positioned carefully on the edge of the piano’s lid, not cast down carelessly. The cover is also pleasingly free of dust. Will curls his hands around it’s spine, lifting the volume up to flick through yellowing pages. Will immediately recognizes the script as ‘The Count of Monte Cristo’. Will doesn’t care much for the desperate love stories and dyre adventures told in tales such as this, however it had been his mothers favorite novel, so a copy has lain on his book shelf throughout the entirety of his adult life. He feels a small warmth at this having survived. </p><p>A small slip of paper peaks out from the thick pages, and will thumbs through the book until he finds the mark. This opens the book out seemingly mid chapter. Will rests the novel back upon the piano, removes the folded sip of paper, and flattens it against his thigh so reveal a single scrawled sentence. </p><p>Will’s heart lurches yet again as he recognizes the fluid, elegant handwriting draped across the page. For a few moments Will’s brain freezes over and he has to focus on catching his breath, before sense kicks in and he reprimands himself for his overzealous reaction. Hannibal had been in his home before, this could simply be a remnant of an old interaction - Will doesn’t put it past Hannibal to be snooping through his shelves even early on in their relationship. Nevertheless, Will cannot control the rapid pounding of his heart as his eyes skim across the paper. </p><p> </p><p>Will immediately recognizes the quote as one from Thomas Wolfe’s novel  ‘You can’t go home again’. Wolfe had no idea how his sentiment could possibly ring so true. Will turns the scrap of paper over and over in his hands, his mind racing. And then the weight of the world is lifted from his shoulders as his worries of Hannibal's death slip from his mind. He closes his eyes briefly, which open again damp with relief . <br/>And he knows where Hannibal is. </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Will wastes no time calling another cab, returning to his hovel at the ‘Anus Motel’. On arrival he lurches out of the car without hesitation, waving at the driver to wait, and sidling off before he can protest. As he hurries inside he mindlessly fingers the slip of paper tucked into his pocket snugly against his oil painting. Will gathers up the three remaining shirts purchased the day prior, and marches determinedly back outside. He needs to procure a new passport, which may take a bit of doing, and ideally a credit card in order to avoid carrying excessive wads of cash any longer than necessary. </p><p>He glances down again at his phone. He wishes desperately to just bypass Jack, spurred on as he is by his desire to close the distance between himself and Hannibal as quickly as possible. An unexplained disappearance on his part however may ring the metaphorical alarm bells of the F.B.I, which is the last thing Will needs. He wishes that he could simply be left alone for once to mull his feelings over alone. If he had been allowed to do that years ago, when Hannibal and all the true chaos that followed in his wake had first intervened in WIlls life, he might have saved a lot of people shit loads of trouble. Though Will isn’t sure that he would have made the same decision then as he is making now. </p><p>Fine then. He’ll meet with Jack, attempt to bullshit his way through the probable series of invasive questions, and then haul ass out of Quantico. Will decides however to acquire the passport and credit card before meeting Jack, in case he needs to make a dash for whatever reason. </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>The F.B.I Academy in Quantico rings differently as Will’s footsteps echo throughout it’s empty corridors. The building has an airily sullen quality to it that Will doesn’t recognize. He wonders whether his attitude towards the Academy has changed, or whether the staff themselves had clammed up since Hannibal's escape. The now recurring pattern of the F.B.I is one step forward, two steps back despite their grueling workload, and this process must be taking a toll on the staff. </p><p>Jack hadn’t been waiting outside the entrance to greet Will despite him calling in advance. Instead he sits in his office, broad shoulders hunching over his desk as if it required protection, scribbling languidly on an envelope. The creases of his forehead betray the apparently unshakable frustration that he carries about with him.  He glances up briefly as Will raps upon the large glass door, beckoning him in with one large, calloused hand. </p><p>“Will - thank you for coming in.”</p><p>He rises to his feet and extends the hand out for Will to shake, before gesturing for him to sit opposite. Always on the other side of the desk, always maintaining his authoritarian defenses. </p><p>“Jack. Thanks for making time for me on such short notice.”</p><p>Will silently hopes that this concludes the pleasantries. Neither men are very good at this form of small talk. <br/>Jack’s face appears just as solidly stoic as always, but Will can detect an underlying gauntness. Will feels sorry for him, as much as Jack would spite the pity. This is a man that just can’t win, no matter how persistent he is. He is also a man unwilling to admit when a problem becomes too big to handle, not yet ready to accept that he will always be one step behind. </p><p>“I won’t patronize you by pretending that you don’t know what you’re doing here Will. I’ve pulled a lot of springs to keep the G-Men off you until now, but I need you to recount everything that happened after Hannibal was released into police custody.”</p><p>Will counts this bluntness as a small blessing. His hands itch to delve back into his coat pockets and latch onto the note still tucked there for reassurance, so instead clasps them firmly within his lap. <br/>He casts his mind back yet again to his last day with Hannibal. </p><p>“I don’t know if I can tell you much more than you’ve probably determined based on forensic evidence Jack. What do you want to know.”</p><p>Jack rolls his shoulders, holding them up straight, only for them to fold back in on themselves as his attention is transferred elsewhere. </p><p>“Of course we have a general picture of how events unfolded, but I need you to clear up a few details. Let’s start from the beginning - how did he escape?”</p><p>Will nods slowly. So far Jack doesn’t seem to be accusing him of anything, though he isn’t gullible enough not to suspect that the thought isn’t niggling somewhere at the back of Jack's mind.</p><p>“All was going fine until we reached the open road.” </p><p>Will remembers sitting opposite Hannibal in the police van, unable to look away from those dark, glistening eyes piercing directly into his lighter ones. They had reflected pinpoints of red light, and though his nose and lips had been covered by a white plastic mask, every minute expression had been translated solely through those eyes. </p><p>“We’d been driving for about 30 minutes before we heard gunshots - it only took a few seconds for about six or seven shots fired before our vehicle lurched, but we stayed upright. Then the doors were broken open, I think it was Dolarhyde, but he was standing in front of the sun so I couldn't see him directly. He shot the other two guards in the van and then I blacked out. When I woke up Hannibal was outside, shackle free.”</p><p>Will’s speech came to a natural halt as Jack eyed him skeptically.</p><p>“So somehow you survived this.”</p><p>Will holds back an exasperated sign. Surely Jack doesn’t need each motivation laid out in front of him. How many months has he had a team of highly trained forensic experts piece this shit together? Many many months. </p><p>“Dolarhyde had obviously managed to communicate with Hannibal prior to our coup attempt. Hannibal wouldn’t have had me shot. Not after this long. It wouldn’t be symbolic enough. It’s not his design.”</p><p>“And it wasn’t Dolarhydes either?”</p><p>“Hannibal had Francis Dolarhyde wrapped around his little finger, it didn’t matter what Dolarhydes design was.”</p><p>“So you went with Hannibal.”</p><p>“I had to. If I hadn’t then we wouldn’t have any idea of his whereabouts whatsoever.”</p><p>Jack is silent for a second before nodding at Will to continue. Will knows that Jack knows all of this. He’s just testing him, always trying to gauge who is still on his side after countless betrayals. <br/>Will continues to describe the following events in enough detail to indicate that he is fully cooperating, but not enough to sound suspicious. He knows that there is always a balance. Jack however stops him after he begins to describe Dolarhyde’s dramatic entrance. </p><p>“So you think Hannibal told Dolarhyde where to find you both. Why take that risk?”</p><p>“Hannibal only takes very calculated risks, Jack. His escape, his injuries, mine, none of it came as a shock or even as a slight surprise to him. He always appears to simply adapt to the reality around him, but that reality has always been painstakingly cultivated to suit his desires, never the other way round. Anything that he doesn’t have control over is redundant, and it won’t provide you with any evidence.”</p><p>“So he predicted that you would kill Dolerhyde for him.”</p><p>This is where Will needs to tread lightly.</p><p>“Hannibal killed Dolarhyde, I defended myself. Dolarhyde stabbed me,” Will gestures at his cheek, “And threw me back out through the broken window. His mistake was that instead of pursuing Hannibal, he followed after me. I managed to get a knife in his leg and split open his stomach but I couldn’t do much more than that. Hannibal pulled him off me. I’m not sure what happened after. It was really dark Jack, and I wasn’t feeling my best by that point.”</p><p>“Did you know that Dolarhyde’s throat had been ripped out?”</p><p>Will’s head, which had dropped in an illusion of submittance, snaps back up and he widens his eyes in feigned shock.</p><p>“? No! What are you asking me Jack, because I’d rather you cut to the chase.”</p><p>Jack locks eyes with Will for a decent few seconds, sizing him up, before moving on without addressing Will’s outburst. </p><p>“And then?” </p><p>“And then Hannibal helped me up and inspected my injuries, and I tipped us over the cliff.”</p><p>“You didn’t fall?”</p><p>“Yes we fell, but it wasn’t accidental. You wanted two dead serial killers, so did I.”</p><p>“And you were ready to go down with him. That wasn’t a sacrifice you needed to make Will.”</p><p>Will huffs out a humorless laugh. </p><p>“It was the sacrifice we were all willing to make, Jack. Let’s not pretend that you didn’t want both The Dragon and Hannibal dead, and I was the unfortunate but expendable catalyst.”</p><p>Jack shakes his head slowly seemingly in disagreement, but doesn't deny the accusation. Will can’t help the next words from slipping between his lips, not that he requires affirmation any longer, but he’s curious as to how far along the F.B.I are with any investigation. </p><p>“So were we successful?”</p><p>Jack hesitates, the cogs and wheels of his brain churning as they formulate an answer to the prying question.</p><p>“We don’t have any evidence to suggest that Hannibal has survived, but we don’t have any to the contrary either. No body, no medical records, not even a footprint. It’s highly improbable that he pulled through the fall, however if there was a body to find we should have located it already. We’re on high alert.”</p><p>Jack pauses again, his next statement obviously weighed very carefully.</p><p>“I could use your skills at the moment Will, to clear the muddied water if you will. Just between us I’m not sure which direction to start looking in.”</p><p>Will shakes his head, averting his gaze and letting a curl of hair fall into one eye. He focuses on exuding vulnerability through the pores of his skin, though admittedly doesn’t  have to try very hard. </p><p>“Sorry Jack, I’m beat. I don’t think I’d see things in the same way again, or if I ever will. I honestly can’t do it for the moment.”</p><p>Will doesn’t elaborate, not warming to the idea of sharing his inner turmoils with Jack. The latter pinches his lips together and relays an impression of disappointment, though doesn’t appear to be all that surprised. </p><p>“Yeah, I understand that. I might need to speak to you again to answer a few more questions as they pop up, but in all honestly you probably shouldn’t get too close to this case anyway.” </p><p>Will represses yet another grimace. He was already way too close. He always has been.</p><p>“Where do you think you’ll go?”</p><p>Will sighs and shrugs heavily, as if he hasn’t dedicated much thought to the query. </p><p>“I dunno. I just need to get away.”</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Will doesn’t linger long in the Academy, though Jack manages to worm a few more questions in before Will is allowed to leave. Where do you think Hannibal would go if he  alive? How much damage would you say he sustained? And then, as if remembering that he and WIll have cultivated a friendship over the years; You’ll let me know if you need anything won’t you Will?<br/>Will briefly considers stopping in to see if Price and Zeller are around, but decides to leave his memories of them in the safe and cheerful space inside his mind. They are too good to taint with this new Will. </p><p> </p><p>Will rides the bus back to his motel and waits an hour on the off chance that Jack is paranoid (rightly so) enough to track his next actions, before hailing another cab and waving another $50 note over to the driver and requesting a ride to the airport.</p><p> </p><p>Without any baggage to carry with him (after discarding his remaining shirts, deciding it would be easier to buy more once reaching his destination), his flight is easy enough to secure. The airline staff are all dressed in bright colours and sport equally bright smiles, the constant variables within the ever changing bustle of this place between places. </p><p> </p><p>“One ticket to Lithuania please.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After landing in Lithuania, Will closes in on his search for Hannibal.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Aside from obtaining accommodation above a small, rundown - yet accordingly cheap - pub in Vilnius Lithuania, Will’s first move is to locate a hunting knife. </p><p>He wanders the unfamiliar and brightly coloured streets, locating the occasional hunting store or weapons emporium, yet the shelves are all stocked with crude stainless steel blades with plastic handles - durable and long lasting but manufactured and impersonal. They are also filled with guns. </p><p>
  <em>guns lack intimacy</em>
</p><p>The shift workers are all big gruff looking men that roughly pat Will on the back and loudly assist him in confidently warm voices, until they realize however quickly the displeasure Will takes at the simple destructive tools, at which point they glower and leave him to inspect the shelves in peace. </p><p>After hours of aimless traipsing he finally locates an old antiquities store, where he stumbles upon a short curved blade secured to a wooden hilt. The knife is adorned with meticulously styled metal work where the blade meets the polished handle. Will weighs the object in his hands, turning it over and over as if inspecting some late nineteenth century treasure. It’s easy to handle and fits neatly into his coat pocket. </p><p>
  <em>It is beautiful Will.</em>
</p><p>The decrepit old man behind the counter seems to barely summon up the energy to glance at Will as he pays for the weapon, before wandering back to his lodging, blatantly ignoring the various hustles of people sharing the street with him. </p><p>At this time of day - with the white sun just reaching its peak in the sky - the pub doesn’t contain any more than small drabs of sulking individuals, most of whom are just seeking out a simple lunch meal. There’s an elderly couple hunched over at the bar, a triad of gangly teenagers seated in a booth at the far end of the establishment, and two men in dark trench coats seated in the booth opposite them, handling two large mugs of what looks like beer. The elderly couple and youngsters are both mumbling quietly in their respective corners, the only sounds within the otherwise airy room. The two darkly clad figures seem to be sitting in silence, their faces obscured from Will where he lingers in the doorway of the building. One of them stretches a leg out underneath their polished wooden table, allowing their trouser leg to hitch up enough for Will to note a wooden limb disappearing into smart shiny black shoes. He wonders briefly how Alana Bloom is doing. </p><p>
  <em>Cowering in a corner no doubt, the beast is back is he not?</em>
</p><p>As Will crosses the room, trying to move in as inconspicuous a manner as possible, his eyes flick nervously between the three groups of people. He has always felt uncomfortable with the niggling awareness that others might be looking at him without his knowledge, as if in his lack of awareness his body language would betray his deep discomfort at being scrutinized. Will is well aware that this happens regardless of any attempt to counter it on his part, yet hates the idea of others discerning it without his knowledge. It feels undignified in some way. Why his own dignity still means anything to him is beyond Will however. Those concerns should be reserved for Hannibal, not himself.<br/>
A small rush of relief floods over Will as he ascends the small hidden staircase to his rented room above the pub. He squeezes his eyes shut and pushes back against the sarcastic drawling voice within his head.</p><p>
  <em>Remarkable boy. I do admire your courage.</em>
</p><p>Hannibal has become a narrator to his own existence. Ever since landing in Lithuania Will has been unable to rid himself of the noises. It’s as if he is an observer to his own mental deterioration. He’s going crazy and he can’t take any action against it. He imagines Hannibal’s responding chuckles resonating deep within the confines of his skull, taunting him. Will lets out a frustrated grunt, dismayed at his lack of control.</p><p>“Just leave me alone Hannibal.”</p><p>
  <em>If that is what you really wanted Will, why come so far to find me?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Many long hours later, dusk finds Will’s dark clad figure hunched over a bar-stool, nursing a glass of opaque mahogany sherry. He experimentally swirls the bronzed liquid around the glass, inhaling as he does so. It smells like fermented fruit, an odor that underwhelms Will spectacularly. It tastes like fermented fruit too. </p><p>Will had never been a fan of the sweeter alcohols, however had unwittingly developed an appreciation for them in the company of Hannibal, though in hindsight he supposes it was less as a result of the taste, and more about the experience; seated in Hannibal's chic office, sneaking curious glances over his glasses at the poised man positioned opposite as he pretentiously sipped his wine.<br/>
Will closes his eyes and pictures the scene with mixed feelings of reminiscent fondness and bitter spite, and the next gulp of sherry tastes noticeably better. </p><p>He empties an entire bottle before placing his empty glass upon the rough wooden bar, weighing down a small wad of cash. Will notes that his newfound tendency to carelessly over-pay is a dangerous habit that is likely to attract the wrong sort of attention, yet despite this can’t find it in himself to care. His regard for his own life has significantly decreased, drifting aimlessly as he has been for what seems like years. He reminds himself that he has a purpose now, he is drifting <em>purposefully</em>.<br/>
He stands, running a hand through his hair and striding out into the now black night, not really knowing which way to turn, but unable to climb up the stairs into an empty room packed full of unwelcome silences. </p><p>He decides to simply walk straight through the darkness. If only he had vowed to walk straight forwards when Jack first recruited him into profiling, he wouldn’t have gotten so embarrassingly lost along the way. Instead he had taken countless detours and ventured down every twisting alleyway before turning back to realize that he couldn’t even begin to distinguish the path back to home-base. Will almost wishes that he had the innocence to lay the blame on everyone around him, not in the least Jack, for leading him blindly. Alas he has become too self aware over the past few months to pretend that he hadn’t - at least in some moments - gone quite willingly. </p><p>The abrasive wailing of a horn pulls Will out from his thoughts, and he glances to the side just in time to see headlights in the darkness rushing towards him. His well practiced instincts kick in and he dives backwards  onto the pavement, the fast approaching car barely missing him by an inch. The horn's lament continues for many seconds after the car passes him. Will watches it disappear down the long dimly lit city street in dazed confusion. He must have stopped walking in the middle of the road? </p><p>
  <em>You are becoming distracted Will. You must focus.</em>
</p><p>His arm is tugged sharply upwards and he drags his gaze away from the road to glance above him. His senses regain clarity in slow motion, as if someone was steadily turning up the volume of a radio. He’s surrounded by about five different people, all bending over him. He realizes he’s lying on his back on the footpath. One of the strangers, a man with oily slicked-back hair and huge glasses, is leaning in close to Will’s face and tugging at his arm.</p><p>“Ar tau viskas gerai? Ar tau...Sir...sir are you OK?”</p><p>The man peers at Will through eyes like slits, and in between speaking his mouth clamps shut hard into a thin line. Will’s attention hones in on his mouth - it reminds him of the expression Price used to make when concentrating. After squinting at Will for a few seconds he twists his head over his shoulder to address the growing cluster of people peering over his shoulder.</p><p>“Nemanau, kad jis mane girdi.”</p><p>A high pitched woman's voice asserts itself clearly from among the buzz of chatter. </p><p>“Ar jis girtas?”</p><p>Will blinks hard once at an attempt to ground himself back into the moment and goes to move his legs, which thankfully he seems to be in total control of. He twists his arm away from the lip-man and pushes himself off the ground, holding his hand up as if to indicate independence.</p><p>“I’m fine. Sorry. I’m fine.”</p><p>There are so many pairs of eyes staring at him it’s confusing trying to avoid them all. He takes a few quick steps backwards and the crowd, consisting of perhaps 12 bodies now, separates to let him through as if he was a cursed thing. Lip-man leans in after him. </p><p>“Do you need any help sir. Maybe you shouldn’t be walking along at night in your condition, can I take you somewhere?”</p><p>Will scrutinizes the man. His hair is jet-black and pressed so flat against his head that you can make out the subtle bumps of his skull shape. He’s staring at Will intently with his arm outstretched towards him. He must think Will is drunk, which Will indignantly realizes is quite possible at this point. He glances at the group of faces, their expressions portraying everything from worry to disapproval. </p><p>“No no, I’m fine. I just got lost in thought. My apologies.”</p><p>Will turns around and strides away, wanting only to escape the suffocating attention. He hears someone call out behind him but he raises his hand again and shakes his head.<br/>
No one pursues him so he shoves his hands deep into his pockets and tries to shrink down into the collar of his coat. He backtracks, retracing the steps he came by, wanting now to simply disappear into his own space above the rowdy pub. Apparently even walking in a straight line is too complicated. </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Will gives up trying to sleep after just over an hour of fretful turning. He has a splitting headache, one that he is unwilling to admit is likely due to an excessive amount of alcohol. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and waits a few seconds until he is sure his feet are planted solidly on the floor. </p><p>He doesn’t seem to have any problems rising to his feet, or walking across the small room. He scuffles around in his trouser pocket for a few seconds before finding his key ring, and surveys the room once before stepping out onto the staircase landing and locking his door behind him. The stairs squeak questionably loudly within the quiet of the closed pub, causing Will to wince as he empathises with the seemingly overworked and exhausted bar-owner that he assumes resides close by.<br/>
Will exits the establishment through a back doorway in the kitchen, which leads him straight to his rental car. The pub owner - Will thinks his surname is Laukaitis though doubts that he was fully able to discern it through the mans thick European accent and rapid-fire English - was happy enough to loan Will a car for use only within the city after Will hinted at the high price he was willing to pay on top of his boarding fee. </p><p>He feels a slight pang of guilt twisting his gut as he anticipates breaking his agreement with his trusting landlord. His smile is without humor when the remorse does nothing to even momentarily falter his intentions however. Based on his previous escapade through Hannibal's home country, Will estimates his drive taking about 2 hours. He glances at his watch - <em>4:57</em></p><p>The collection of keys given to him by Laukaitis clink together as he inserts one into the ignition and turns the old car on. It stutters harshly to life and Will’s grip on the steering wheel doesn’t relax until he is well away from the pub, and hence the earshot of any sleeping barkeep. </p><p>Will enjoys driving in the dark, especially now as the light pollution of Vilnius fades away into a tunnel of blackness stretching out on the road ahead. It becomes so easy to pretend that he’s the only person in the world, the fragile confines of the vehicle's walls and the impenetrable darkness everywhere aside from directly in front of the car separate him from everything on the outside, until only he exists. He and Hannibal - the constant presence that never leaves him alone. </p><p><em>Indeed Will. But you will find that if you truly wanted to be left alone, it would be so.</em> </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Will is right. It’s just under 2 hours before the stone grey towers and walls of Lecter Castle appear on the horizon. Will scans the roadside until he finds an appropriately low and out-of-view bank for him to park the car in. He predicts that it will be entirely difficult to back out of, however finds that he holds very little concern for that far into the future.<br/>
The last time he ventured to the Lecter estate he drove much closer to the entrance itself, however this time feels paranoia beginning to seep in at the edges. He doubts that anyone would be able to follow him discreetly this far into the middle of nowhere, however can’t shake the feeling that fate won’t allow him to reach his hard-sought destination. </p><p>Will gazes through the misty morning at Lecter castle, a formidable outline in the far distance. Sombre turrets taper off into thin points, piercing and splitting the clouds as if appealing to the lesser nature of the Lecter family. The air is chilly and creeping, managing to wind its way through the folds of Will’s coat. The impatience lying heavy in the pit of his stomach worsens as he pushes one foot in front of the other, gradually putting the long distance between himself and the castle behind him. His legs feel as if they can’t move fast enough, as if the ground is a magnet sucking his feet into place. It reminds him of distant childhood dreams.<br/>
It should take him about an hour to walk from here to the castle's entrance. Will glances at his watch again. <em>6:51</em></p><p>He hugs his coat tight around his chest as he sets off on his hike. He hasn’t taken the garment off since he landed in the airport yesterday morning. He hasn’t changed <em>any</em> of his clothes for that matter, since at least two days ago. The air bites at the unshielded skin of his face like tiny beaked insects, and he wrinkles his nose in a futile attempt to rid himself of the uncomfortable sensation. He estimates that he has about 4.5 miles, part of which is up a frustratingly steep incline, to cover before he reaches the overgrown and rusted iron gates which encapsulate Hannibal's childhood fortress. </p><p>Will picks his way between the trees, their reaching branches tugging at the mist floating through the thick forest. The corners of Wills mouth twitch at the adequately poetic nature of the landscape - he could see Hannibal growing here, discovering Socrates and relativity before he was even old enough to run.<br/>
Will pictures a slight, melancholy child running before him now, clad in small cotton shorts and a cream sweater vest. Silky blond hair bounces as he leads Will through the undergrowth. Will quickens his pace so as to keep up with the child. Despite being several paces behind him, he can hear melodic tones from the boy's direction. This young Hannibal doesn’t laugh or chuckle with the adventurous delight of a child, but instead hums to himself as he races under low hanging branches and emerging roots. <em>Spring Waltz, Chopin</em>. His tune is high and clear, though only just audible. </p><p>Hannibal can’t be any more than 6 years old, but he weaves tirelessly through the forest floor as if a trained hunter. Will wants to call out to him, ask him to turn around. </p><p>And then the boy stops with an abruptness that causes Will to follow suit, a mere few feet still separating the two. He hadn’t registered how heavy his breathing has become until now, the long trek gone unnoticed with his attention being honed in on the small figure in front of him. . </p><p>Will is standing at the edge of a clearing - where the woodland tapers off - revealing the long awaited gateway to Lecter Castle. Will doesn’t have time to survey the grand entrance however, as his eyes are captured by the dark figure standing before them. The young boy paces forward towards the figure, reaching for him, and then Will blinks and the boy disappears. Only the figure remains, and as Will’s eyes take in the broad shoulders, soft sandy hair, and bold posture his heavy breathing becomes constricted.  </p><p>Hannibal's imposing silhouette is grounded, unmoving mere meters from the castle's iron gates. His hands are clasped behind his back, which is turned to Will. Hannibal’s realistically minuscule figure seems to tower impossibly above the mansion in his foreground. The castle, forest, mountains and even the magnificent pink and orange tapestry of the sunset are painted into the background, framing Hannibal as the only subject, who commands notability above all variants of nature and man. He is the master of this house. A master that cannot enter his own residence. </p><p>Will wonders for how long, for how many tedious days, Hannibal has stood here contemplating his childhood and the forbidden, untouchable memories that prevent his venturing any further. Long enough for the reminiscing to take its toll; Will’s knowing gaze can pinpoint the slight curl of Hannibal’s broad shoulders and the taut veins of clenched hands that no other would be allowed to see. </p><p>For the first time events feel to Will as if they have fallen into place far too suddenly.<br/>
He feels as if he’s hovering on the edge of an abyss, swaying to and fro but unable to move definitively in either direction. Hannibal is here where he told Will he’d be, the place he couldn’t go again - home - and yet while Will had convinced himself that he was accurate in his intuition that he would indeed find Hannibal here, he had neither truly believed it or considered the repercussions. Should he turn back around and resign himself to whatever half, shadowy existence that awaits him apart from Hannibal, or venture forward once again into the arms of wrath and destruction. Or succumb to the ease of igniting a war with wrath and destruction itself, discerning once and for all his ability to strike it down. </p><p>Will feels protected by the edge of thick shrubbery and gnarled reaching trees from which he hovers, though as Hannibal’s demanding silhouette slowly turns, he realizes that he isn’t truly obscured. Darts of panic flicker up Will’s spine as he observes, like an outsider to his own body, as this one last life changing decision is snatched from him. Appropriate - that Hannibal once again maintains his grip on Will’s fate, though Will supposes that the grip never really loosened. From halfway across the world it has dragged him here. </p><p>Hannibal is now directly facing him, and Will realizes that within no moment of time did Hannibal appear to be unaware of the former's presence. There is no confusion or surprise radiating from the darkly obscured figure, only two shining eyes regarding him.<br/>
For too many long moments the men are still. Each shiver of fear and apprehension darting between Will’s limbs urge him to turn and run, even simply walk, away. He is taken aback in that he can feel Hannibal's gaze permitting him to do so, and knows that he wouldn’t be stopped or even called after if he was to follow through with this initial instinct. Will wonders if he can also detect slight trepidation emanating from the man opposite him, as if Hannibal is anticipating the loss of the skittish and easily startled critter that is Will. This is the reckoning itself. Should Will stay or should Will go.<br/>
His chest billows and recedes with the rhythm of his too deep breaths, and he stays. </p><p>After an ephemeral yet seemingly permanent moment, the two gleaming pinpricks disappear behind Hannibal's closing eyes, and he tilts his chin fractionally upwards, his impossible cheekbones royalty accentuated by shadows. He extends his hand deliberately towards Will, ever expecting his timid companion to turn and flee. Will runs his fingers lightly over the stinging blade of the knife buried within the folds of his coat. His mind is thrumming within the calm facade of his trusting gaze, a facade that Hannibal can often too readily see through. </p><p>“Come, Will.”</p><p>His thickened accent languidly drowns the two simple words, and it pulls taut the final length of string holding Will and Hannibal apart. Even as Will is drawn forward he is unsure of his true intentions. Only when he remains one single foot away from Hannibal does his body regain control over his turbulent and conflicted mind, and he removes his own calloused hand from around the slick blade, instead reaching it out towards Hannibal's outstretched palm. </p><p>As soon as his pale fingers graze Hannibal's golden ones Will feels himself being pulled into a solid embrace. He lets out a startled huff as he is enfolded by muscled arms, though his initial psychological surprise is once again overridden by his body's first physical instinct, and he folds himself against Hannibal's chest. His forehead comes to rest, with his neck bent slightly, against the taller man's chest, and Will can feel the light fluttering of his curls as Hannibal nuzzles into them. </p><p>Will squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to lessen the overwhelming sensory overload. Hannibal’s breathing is rhythmic and steady, and the slow thud of his heart against Will’s forehead doesn’t betray any inner anxiety or excitement. Will notes his own breathing as being fairly calm, though he can feel the rush of <em>his</em> thrumming heartbeat easily revealing his own nervousness. </p><p>“You left me again Hannibal.”</p><p>The older man's affirming sigh resounds from deep within his chest, so that Will can feel as well as hear the gruff exhalation. Hannibal pauses, prolonging a moment of silence before his accented drawl wraps it’s way around his response.  </p><p>“If I had not, you would have died. And even so it is my greatest regret.”</p><p>Will frowns into the smooth crêpe of Hannibal's shirt. He tries to grasp at the fog of thoughts that lie tangled and receding in his mind. </p><p>“It was another manipulation. You couldn’t be certain of my response if I woke up alongside you, whether I might reject or resent you, yet were assured of my longing were you to once again distanced yourself from me.”</p><p>Hannibal's hands slide from their resting place in the groove of Will’s back to grip his shoulders, pushing the younger man away from him in doing so.<br/>
Standing here under Hannibal’s relentless scrutiny, unable to look anywhere but into his deep maroon eyes, Will feels far more exposed than when he was tucked closer against the former's torso. Will is frustratingly unable to discern the intentions behind Hannibal's intense gaze, though perhaps this has less to do with Will’s ability to gauge the older man. Perhaps Hannibal is simply taking him in, as he has done before during the fathomless and more darkly disconcerting moments of their turbulent relationship. </p><p>Will doesn’t register the rough hand rising to brush along his cheek bone until Hannibal's long fingers connect with his skin. He ignores the tingling sensation they leave in their wake. </p><p>“The most talented of craftsmen will spend hours sculpting a precious vase, yet after all his effort to create an object of beauty and elegance, it is the space inside that is truly worth anything.”</p><p>Hannibal’s brow furrows and his voice drops in both volume and timbre, while still  relentlessly locking Will’s eyes with his own. </p><p>“Don’t you see Will that I could spend our whole lifetimes cultivating for you the most judicious of inner demons, yet your own internal nature, that which is truly worth anything, is nothing that I can influence. The most I can do is to tailor that nature to express itself as a casing that satisfies my desires.”</p><p>Will hardens his gaze, using all his energy to attempt to communicate with them how important his next statement is. </p><p>“Don’t Hannibal. I can’t continue to exist not knowing which impulses are truly mine and which are the result of your grand puppeteering.”</p><p>Hannibal's curved lips twitch at one corner, a sad smile. </p><p>“I know. I have come to learn that my temptations are met with sharp edges where you are concerned. Never forget that you responded to my late manipulations in kind. I once said to you that I cannot shut mine off anymore than you can shut yours off, this rings true in more than one aspect of our relationship don’t you think?”</p><p>Will’s first reaction to the accusation is to clam up and draw on his defensiveness, being accused of manipulation by Hannibal feels like the ultimate hypocrisy. And yet the gut-wrenching guilt inspired by those five words - <em>We couldn’t leave without you</em> - while some might say absurdly, is still all encompassing for Will. But then he would be perfectly justified in wondering whether or not that guilt was even his own, or just one of the many emotions that Hannibal had managed to stitch into the fabric of Will’s mind so surreptitiously. </p><p>There is a small twinkle dancing in Hannibal’s eye as he wallows for a moment in self congratulation. </p><p>“<em>Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster</em>. Are you a monster Will?”</p><p>Will frowns again, or more accurately the creases of his forehead deepen. He chooses to ignore that last comment. </p><p>“So then we are forever destined to push each other away, ricocheting amidst the chaos, and each time losing a piece of ourselves. This isn’t sustainable.”</p><p>“Or perhaps we will find a harmony in all the chaos, one which finally fills the abyss.”</p><p>Will blinks, and as his vision clears and he once again meets Hannibal's intense gaze. The older man’s eyes seem remarkably transparent, as if Hannibal has opened the carefully guarded flood gates always too tightly locked behind them in order to let Will see.<br/>
Hannibal is lonely. Will already knew this, he knew it because his own churning loneliness has always identified a counterpart in Hannibal’s, yet this is the first time he has ever been allowed to glimpse it. It appears shimming and cavernous in Hannibal’s eyes.</p><p>Will has to duck his head, hit with an odd pang of fear that he would be unable to portray to Hannibal how profoundly he returns such feelings. Despite the intense loathing he has formerly felt this man, he doesn’t identify as deserving of such longing from him. </p><p>Will can feel the older man's burning scrutiny even as he stares stubbornly at his shoes. The forsaken hole in his stomach grows when Hannibal's hands drop away from their resting place on Wills biceps. Why does it always feel as if they are forever dancing around each other, as if trapped on opposite sides of the infinity loop, never fully sinking into any sense of peace. </p><p>“Are you going to stay Will? Because this time I would not find it in myself to let you go.”</p><p>The one question that Will has repressed, ignored, rejected; could he ever find the strength to cast aside his moral compass and sink into the arms of the devil, or will he muster the courage to turn away from this other half of himself knowing that giving in could probably crush him? He had gazed too long into the abyss, and gazing back at him he were two dark, lonely maroon eyes. The reason, Will thinks, that he has taken so long to answer this question, is that there has only even been one answer. A terrifying one;</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Hannibal’s lips part ever so slightly, as if surprised by the assuring response, and then he smiles, his pointed teeth just showing and he ducks his head - a combination of actions that leave Will rather taken aback. Could the sophisticated, dignified psychopath really be showing even an ounce of bashfulness? He murmurs something, almost too low for Will to discern, and even so the younger man isn’t able to make sense of the foreign remark. </p><p>“Širdelė.”</p><p>There is a brief pause, both men mulling over the past few minutes of reconciliation in their own twisted manner. Will is slightly dazed by the lack of panic he feels at the sincerity and finality of his decision. After so many years of agonizing only peace washes over him. </p><p>
  <em>You want to feel such sweet and easy peace.</em>
</p><p>As Hannibal's eyes flit over Will his eyebrows knit together in a slight scowl. His hand darts out - viper speed rendering Wills startled flinch useless - to run along the underneath of his forearms, breaking the calm stillness of the moment. </p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>Confused, Will twists his arms around awkwardly in order to determine the cause of Hannibal’s obvious concern. The sleeves of his new coat have been torn on both sides, and after pulling away the fabric, the skin underneath is coloured dark blue. In the corners of Will’s mind a brief image flashes of blaring headlights rushing towards him and an abrasive horn dissipating into the night.<br/>
He mumbles his excuse absentmindedly, still studying the blemished skin of his arms. </p><p>“I wasn’t looking - had to dive out of the way of a car. I must’ve landed harder than I thought.”</p><p>His admission is met with a disapproving growl. </p><p>“You have become careless. I hope now you are less willing to throw your life away. And mine.”</p><p>The last comment is injected with trace amounts of dark humor, and Will huffs halfheartedly. </p><p>“It only happened last night, and honestly I don’t think the adrenaline had worn off since I woke up in hospital.”</p><p>Realizing he isn’t in the mood to discuss his experiences since his last night with Hannibal he scrambles around for something else to finish with. </p><p>“I’m honestly more upset about the coat.”</p><p>It’s Hannibal's turn to huff out a chuckle. </p><p>“I will buy you a new coat.”</p><p>Hannibal’s grip tightens fractionally on Will’s elbow before he spins him halfway around with a sharp yet painless flex of his own forearm. The effect knocks the air out of Will for a few seconds. The older man's hand rests against his back and he urges him forward, away from the airy towers of Lecter Castle. </p><p>“Come, I will take you home. We can gather our thoughts there.”</p><p>Will rolls his eyes and tries to subtly steady himself, knowing that Hannibal will gain satisfaction from catching Will off guard with his swift movements, in fact this was probably his very intention. Always provocative. </p><p>“You have a property aside from this one in Lithuania?”</p><p>Will can almost hear Hannibal's gloating smirk.</p><p>“I have many.”</p><p>Of course he does. Will wonders why he even asked. </p><p>They make their way down the long, winding driveway - a far easier path than the one Will followed to get here. Will evens out their strides so that they are walking beside one another, noticing all the bunching anxiety that had steadily built up over the weeks seeping out of him with every step.<br/>
Hannibal must have a car hidden closeby. God, his own rental car is still sitting on the side of the road somewhere.</p><p>“Wait.”</p><p>Instead of attempting any equivalently disarming gestures, Will simply places a shy hand on Hannibal's arm to halt him.  </p><p>“I drove here in a rental - I should probably return it before running off with you into the depths of hell.”</p><p>Hannibal dismisses Will’s carefully chosen comparison with an unimpressed glower and instead appears to retreat into his thoughts for a minute. </p><p>“Do you have any belongings to retrieve?” </p><p>He tilts his head to the side and leers, adding as if on an afterthought,</p><p>“Another blade like the one hiding in your pocket perhaps?”</p><p>Will isn’t at all confronted that his little secret hadn’t remained confidential for long. He absentmindedly traces the invisible outline of the knife with his forefinger. </p><p>“No. I didn’t bring anything.”</p><p>Hannibal nods once. </p><p>“Good. Return your car. I will meet you this evening in Cathedral Square - I assume you have located yourself in Vilnius?” </p><p>Will smiles in affirmation. Hannibal however doesn’t return the positive gesture. </p><p>“I am reluctant to release you into the wild Will.”</p><p>Will must intently focus in order to refrain from rolling his eyes at the protective serial killer yet again. </p><p>“I just came from said wilderness.”</p><p>“Yes, and you were almost killed by a car.”</p><p>Will can’t negate this. His eyes soften as he regards the older man, the one who uses sarcasm and condescension to mask his reservations.</p><p>“And now I have found what I was looking for. I promise that I don’t plan on placing myself in front of any fast moving object from this moment forward.”</p><p>“Even so.”</p><p>Will waits for Hannibal to comment further, and when he doesn’t, simply squeezes Hannibal’s arm and backs away. </p><p>“See you this evening.”</p><p>Hannibal raises a single eyebrow, his smirk once again creasing the lines of his face as Will turns away and strides in the opposite direction.</p><p>“Yes mano meile.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A bit of violence in this chapter for anyone who would rather avoid it :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If anything has ever tested Will’s patience in all his 37 years of existence, it is the drive back to Vilnius. The inferno of disbelief and giddiness tumbling within his chest makes it difficult to remain grounded on the seat beneath him. His mood rapidly switches between relieved at having a few moments apart from Hannibal’s all-consuming presence in order to gather his thoughts, and anguished at having so hastily separated himself from his rediscovered   companion. </p><p>Will isn’t sure why he was so ready to part separate however temporarily, so soon after promising Hannibal that he wasn’t going to leave again. Perhaps it had been a way of asserting his independence - warning Hannibal that he was genuine in his need to maintain control over his own consciousness. Though infrequently Hannibal doesn’t have to do much at all  in order to diminish Will’s sense of self-awareness. Frequently when the two are together, Will finds his ability to make sense of his thoughts and actions so dulled that he gets lost in a fog of confusion. Yet equally frequently  the company of the older man heightens his self awareness tenfold and Will finds himself making discoveries within the confines of his mind that hadn't before been possible. Then again, whether he finds himself disorientated or enlightened is most likely under Hannibal's control. </p><p>Now though, Will thinks he has enough cognizance to accurately recognize the underlying excitement that threatens to bubble up through the cracks of his calm and earnest exterior. Excitement at the multitude of prospects now suddenly opened up before him. Two days ago he was a man with nothing - he had thrown away his old life, every remnant of his routine of order and safety disappearing with it. Now he was a man with a pathway to navigate, one more intriguing than he had ever before traveled, and he was finally willing to accept this challenge - to step away from his monotonous and restrained existence. </p><p>Will can detect trepidation and reservations simmering, even under the deep excitement, but he tucks such grievances away for later. For now he is relieved to be rid of the turmoil that had seemingly forever plagued his every decision, a turmoil finally lifted after catching sight of Hannibal's loneliness, and electing to chase it away with his own. The internal conflict remains, but for once in this moment, it doesn’t bother him. </p><p>Will even finds it in himself to turn on the car's old radio, though the first worthwhile channel echoes out in mournful and unrecognizable Lithuanian. This doesn’t impede upon Will’s mood in the slightest, who has never found solace in specific lyrics, and he lets the sounds instead slide over him, allowing his mind to tune out of the complexities of reality. </p><p>Will takes a small detour once reaching the city, stopping at an expensively stylish (he thinks) looking boutique store that appears to specialize in men's clothing. He braces himself as he pushes open the large glass doorway, preparing to be all but pounced on by one sales assistant or another as he enters the building. To his relief, he is accurate in his assumption that the store is one of those fashionably pretentious kinds, as the man behind the counter simply glances up at him with a beady expression. He squints in a fascinatingly poised manner at Will from over the rim of his moon shaped glasses, before sending a tight-lipped smile in Will’s direction and continuing to examine whatever lies upon the desktop before him. </p><p>The store is petite yet spacious, and very well lit. Silver rails almost encircle it’s entire perimeter, upon which hang a variety of meticulously displayed garments. Will grimaces at his own disheveled looking self - no amount of washing is going to make the <em>new</em> clothes that he is sporting look anything but manky after being worn for three days straight, dragged along a footpath and then hauled through a thick forest of clinging trees and undergrowth. He grimaces again as it dawns on him that this must have been Hannibal's first impression since their last moments together, both sweaty and bloody on the edge of a cliff. Now that the thought has entered his mind, he guesses he is fairly sweaty at this moment too. Goddamn these materialistic niceties. Will chides himself on how much such niceties now grace his awareness, fully acknowledging that he entered this shop in the first place in order to arrive in something more dapper for his meeting with Hannibal this evening. </p><p>He rifles through the many clothes, not really sure what he’s looking for, before settling on a simple pair of fitted black slacks and a silky teal coloured dress shirt. He ignores the subtly disapproving glare of the checkout man as Will pays for the clothes with dirt covered hands, and marches back out of the store, determined not to look remorseful. </p><p>Will had anticipated some difficulty in finding his way back to the pub, however recognizes the streets of Vilnius better than initially expected. Parks the car back in it’s spot behind the pub, Will makes his way into the establishment through the front door instead of via the kitchen, thankful to have actually only been away for about 7 or so hours. Again, the joint is fairly dead while the sun still shines outside, occupied by only a few pathetic stranglers. Will finds himself far less hung up about crossing the floor and making his way up to his small room. He can’t help but experiencing an irritating frustration that Hannibal's presence in his life contributes so profoundly to his sense of confidence. </p><p>Will wastes no time climbing into the small shower tucked against the corner of his compact room, determinedly scrubbing the grime that seems permanently embedded within the pores of his skin. He runs his hand over his chin, which is now rough with unshaven scruff, however deliberately avoids brushing over the scar running through his cheek.<br/>
The water starts to run cold after a meager few minutes, making Will wince at the sudden chill. It is only now that he realizes the lack of a towel, and his apartment isn’t insulated enough to chase away the dampness of the air, meaning it would take at least an hour for him to fully air-dry. After a short deliberation he uses the bed sheet as a towel, regretting this discourteous behavior immediately and folding it up neatly along with the remainder of his bedclothes by way of an apology. </p><p>Will slides into his new outfit, forlornly examining his damaged coat before retrieving the knife from within it’s folds and discarding the coat onto the bed beside him. He tucks the glossy fabric of his shirt into his trousers, wishing that he’d also invested in another belt - not for the sake of dignity as the pants fit fine - but instead to smarten up the overall ensemble. He resolves instead to scrubbing at his old one until it looks almost new, though it doesn’t regain the shine of fresh leather. Finally he slips his small blade into the deep back pocket of his trousers, unwilling to leave the beautifully crafted weapon behind. It only just fits. </p><p>He squints into a dust-covered mirror hanging beside the door frame, combing his hair through with his fingers so that the mop of wild curls remains somewhat orderly once dry.<br/>
The grubby mirror isn’t clear enough for him to determine which emotions storm within the reflections of his eyes, though Will isn’t quite brave enough to wipe the surface clean and discover.</p><p>The face of his watch reads <em>12:37</em>. He has at least 4 hours before he should consider walking down to Cathedral Square to meet Hannibal. He had passed the renowned Cathedral on his way out of Vilnius earlier that morning, which then had taken him about 15 minutes to reach when driving, and thus an estimated 30 - 35 minutes on foot. He is still left with 3.5 hours to kill. Impatience is now gnawing at his insides like a gremlin trying to paw it’s way into the light. He considers simply lying back, wading into the quiet of the stream as it were, but for once in his life the stream resonates loneliness. </p><p>Instead he trundles down to the bar, ordering a whiskey sour and handing over the keys to his apartment with a hefty check. He lowers himself down at a table crammed into the far end of the establishment, thereby adding himself to the small crowd of pathetic midday-drinkers.<br/>
The waitress makes far too much of a fuss over delivering his drink, leaning the tray against the side of her tilted hip and tucking her hair behind her left ear multiple times. Will absentmindedly assumes that she had forgotten to tie her hair up before her shift, and it’s only far later when he’s downing his second drink that he realizes she’d been flirting. </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>About 5 minutes away from Vilnius Cathedral Will realizes he might be being tailed. Somewhere within the depths of his mind he’d noticed, through a reflective window, two figures clad in black crossing the street to walk a few metres behind him after leaving the bar. Again, his weary subconscious had noted the figures on the opposite side of the street, still quite close by as he rounded a corner about 10 minutes later. This awareness only broached his consciousness after spotting them a third time through the reflection of a parked car's side-mirror. At first he passed it off as pure paranoia, residual from this morning, and yet after multiple turns and small side roads he could still pick them out. If he truly was being tailed they were doing a shitty job at it. </p><p>Vilnius Cathedral’s dark peak is visible above a block of white/orange buildings. Will thinks that if he can just reach the Square, he will be in a public enough place for the potential tails not to pose further threat. As he passes another clearly reflective shop window he turns his head slightly so as to pin down the position of the mysterious figures, however can no longer see them anywhere. His shoulders relax noticeably as the building threat is rendered imaginary, though his pessimistic mind still remains alert, just in case. </p><p>Will’s mistake is that he gives in to his impatient nerves and decides to take a narrow side-street in order to reach the Cathedral a few minutes faster. As he strides down the bright yet underpopulated avenue, a lightning-fast arm darts out from an alleyway to his left, and he registers a sharp blow to his skull before grey-blackness blots out his vision.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>There is a dull thrumming in the side of Will’s head as he blinks languidly, squinting against the light of his fluttering eyes. He isn’t making any physical effort move, and yet the ground beneath is sliding backwards. After a few seconds of hazy confusion he recalls the two dark figures, the blow to the side of his head. He chastises himself for drinking a second whiskey, if any alcohol at all, as it has evidently dulled his reflexes. </p><p>He’s being dragged backwards across the ground by his arms, which are pulled painfully behind his head - much further and they will pop out of their sockets. Will struggles against his instincts to tense up, not wanting to strain the already taut joints any further. </p><p>Now that his vision has adjusted, his surroundings are not in fact bright, but dull and murky. Flicking his eyes upward he can make out that he’s being dragged down a tight, dark alleyway, however can see the street that he just came from disappearing into the distance. So he hasn’t been out for more than a few seconds, minutes at most. </p><p>Will is hit with an intense flare of anger that he has once again been deterred. He concludes that making any sudden move now - without knowing how many opponents he is facing or how the residue alcohol in his system will affect his senses - is not ideal. More unappealing however, is the thought of being dragged much further away from his only known escape route. The longer he waits, the more time his opponents have to gain control of the situation and drag Will into their territory, their comfort zone. He doesn’t yet know whether they would relax their hold on him the further into their comfort zone they travel. What he can guess at fairly safely, is that whoever is dragging him is still under the impression that he’s out cold.</p><p>Will counts to three, and then digs the heels of his shoes into the gravel below him, while simultaneously jerking his hands away from the hold of his captur. The effect is immediate. Will is tossed towards the ground at the same time as the man above him gives a startled yelp.<br/>
Will lands hard on his left shoulder, and wastes no time in rolling to the side and planting his legs beneath him in order to push his aching body from the ground. As he does so he deciphers multiple shouts, all spoken in a language unfamiliar to Will. The man closest to him gives the loudest cry of alarm - perhaps alerting others?</p><p>“LA NAIBA, S-A TREZIT!”</p><p>Will palms his trouser pockets, inherently grateful that the bastards hadn’t the know-how to search him for weapons before dragging him into the alleyway. He pulls out the knife and displays it out obviously in front of his body, wincing as his shoulder twinges slightly. </p><p>Ge is met with six men, all huge in build and clad in dark clothing, prompting Will to breathily emit a few curses. One man he recognizes instantly as the stranger from the car incident, his slicked back hair and pursed lips etched into Will’s memory, though he has removed the large glasses.<br/>
This man - formerly lip-guy - shouts what must be an order at the others, as they break from their initial shock and dart towards Will at hearing it. </p><p>“Cine nu a scos arma. Ia-l dracului de pe el.”</p><p>Will steadies himself, knowing full well that he has no chance in turning any tables without keeping his cool. He thrusts forward with his knife once the man closest to him is within arms length, the blade connecting with his opponent's blocking arm and drawing blood. The man emits an annoyed snarl and kicks out at Will, though the greater impact of the attack is avoided as Will darts nimby out of the way. Will briefly considers simply turning and running back to safety, however the men are all now too close for him to risk the chance of facing away from them for more than a few seconds. </p><p>Two of the oncoming figures lash out at Will with solid fists. They are large brutes and therefore slow, allowing him to duck under the trajectory of one punch, however the other connects with his stomach with a force like a  bowling ball. Before he has the chance to recover, he’s grabbed by both sleeves and tossed sideways onto the ground again. He’s now surrounded - two men in front, four behind, and the endless walls of the alleyway stretching up on either side. </p><p>Three hulking figures now close in on him at once, and Will’s eye catches the glint of glass grasped within the leading figure's hand. The first thrash connects with Will’s bicep, carving through the skin, deep enough to touch muscle but not bone. The second swipe however misses as Will ducks under it, using the outstretched arm as leverage to rise to his feet and swing his own arm up and around, burying his blade deep into the side of the man's neck. Will can’t help but revel in the thrill he experiences as the knife glides cleanly through the flesh and muscle, severing veins and sliding off bone. He wastes no time however in wrenching the blade back out. The man gurgles out an anguished wail, clutching at the gouts of arterial spray now spurting from the wound. </p><p>Will rides a brief moment of panicked triumph, before he is hit again square in the back from behind. The blow winds him and is accompanied by an enraged bellow from the direction of this new attacker. Will is yet again knocked to his hands and knees and the impossibility of his situation asserts itself in the huff of his now wheezing breaths. He isn’t yet well enough to take on one or two men, let alone six. He is grievously outnumbered. </p><p>He only just has time to glance back up to observe a red-faced, trembling beast of a man reaching for him, clutching at the front of his shirt and hauling him upright. Will grips the knife still clutched in his fingers, ready to bury it deep into the belly of this new foe once another inch of space has been closed. And then the man's eyes bulge, and he himself grimaces in pain. The fist holding onto Will’s collar slackens, allowing the latter to pull free, and the man drops down onto his knees as if in prayer. The crack of his kneecaps against hard concrete is audible. </p><p>Hannibal stands above the fallen figure, towering and lethal in all his monstrous glory.<br/>
The neutral expression painted across his features darkens as he surveys Will, bent slightly at the waist, blood trailing down the side of his arm and trickling between his fingertips. This micro-expression flickers across Hannial's face for less than a millisecond, and then he is moving.<br/>
He lands a powerful kick between the kneeling man's shoulder blades, causing him to jolt forward, skidding face first into the concrete. The force of impact is so that Will can make out tiny dregs of skin and blood mingling with the loose gravel where his face dragged. One of the man's trouser legs has hitched up during his fall, exposing the wooden limb beneath. Will’s eyes widen as this triggers another recent memory - one of two men sitting in the shadows of an empty pub. He has been followed <em>at least</em> since his arrival in Lithuania. </p><p>Hannibal darts sphinx-like to the side as another long shard of glass flies through the air from behind Will, narrowly missing the former's cheek. He strides forward, knocking aside oncoming blows from his adversaries with ease before twisting the neck of a desperately flailing man with a fatal crunch. </p><p>Three men now lie grounded and deathly still, two of them outlined by mingling pools of blood. As Will turns to look towards behind him, a second crunch echos through the narrow alleyway and Will is just in time to observe a fourth man crumpling to the ground, his neck jutting out at an all too wrong angle. The savagely calm orbs of Hannibal’s eyes are black. He darts out towards the one remaining man behind Will, in every action likening himself to a graceful leopard, just as Will himself untwists to face once again forward, glaring at the last man advancing upon him. There is a subtle glint of fear in this one's eyes, yet he seems mostly undeterred.</p><p>Will waits until the huge man is almost on top of him and about to swing a heavy punch, before grabbing the outstretched limb in both of his fists and twisting to the side until he feels the vibrations of a satisfying crack within the man's shoulder joint. His attacker cries out but blindly swings around with his other fist, connecting with the side of Wills chest, just as Will knees him in the groin. Both men hunch over at the force of the corresponding impacts, though Will is the faster one, plunging his knife into the throat of the groaning man before him. Will only removes the blade once the man stops twitching. </p><p>Everything has gone quiet. Will straightens, his feet scuffling though the uneven ground and turns to see Hannibal’s lean figure towering about three of his victims. One of them is lip-man. Both he and Will are panting in deep brisk, steaming breaths. It’s only now that Will starts to feel a niggling panic rise in his chest, and his already quick breathing becomes rapid and uneven. Hannibal closes the distance between them in a single stride, one broad, lethal hand reaching out to grip Will’s undamaged arm and the other coming up to cup his cheek, tilting his head back so that Will is unable to look anywhere but into Hannibal's flickering eyes. </p><p>“Will, I need you to close your eyes and even out your breaths. You may not feel like you can but try to inhale slowly.”</p><p>Will flits his eyes shut and nods, as he feels the hand resting on his arm remove itself briefly, before calloused fingers brush against Will’s as Hannibal removes the knife still clenched within his tight fist.<br/>
The deep inhalations feel as if they are suffocating him, yet after a few seconds he catches up on oxygen, and the coursing dread bubbles down to nothing. He reopens his eyes to survey Hannibal cautiously. </p><p>“What the fuck was that?’</p><p>Hannibal’s mask doesn’t falter, nor does he attempt to paint it with confusion or defensiveness at the implied accusation. Instead he rips the sleeve off one of the fallen, lifeless bodies and proceeds to bind Will’s arm, which is still bleeding all but profusely. </p><p>“I will explain later. At this moment I suggest we vacate the crime scene.”</p><p>Hannibal straightens, sliding his thick coat from off his shoulders in doing so and offering it to Will. Despite his previous excursions, Hannibal has impossibly managed to keep the garment free of both blood and grit.</p><p>“Put this on. You will need to hide your arm until we are out of the public eye.”</p><p>Will surveys the thick, expensive looking material, hesitant despite Hannibal's logic. He chuckles briefly as he responds.</p><p>“I don’t want to bloody your coat Hannibal.”</p><p>He is met with an exasperated glower.</p><p>“I must apologize Will - I put it on my person so as to have both hands free for combat. It is actually your coat. I brought you a new one. ”</p><p>“Goddammit Hannibal already?! Well then I don't really want to bloody <em>my</em> new coat.”</p><p>Hannibal simply smirks.</p><p>“I shall buy you another one.”</p><p>Defeated, Will snatches at the luxuriously heavy fabric, sliding it over his arm yet gritting his teeth at the resulting burning sensation. Hannibal observes him with his unreadable mask, before turning and maneuvering the six corpses around. He then bends down near one graffitied wall of the alleyway, straightening back up with two empty glass bottles in one large hand. He smashes one against the wall, and coolly inserts the jagged end into one of the men’s throats, and then places the other in his hand. The scene looks more or less like a street fight gone so terribly wrong.<br/>
He swivels back to Will, whose wounds are now covered, and adds as an afterthought, </p><p>“May I ask why this sudden needless concern for coats Will?”</p><p>Will rolls his eyes, grateful for the good humor, twisted as it may be among the ghastly scene before them. Hannibal gestures graciously with an outstretched hand towards the light at the end of the alley.</p><p>“Shall we go home Will.”</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Will stares straight ahead during the car ride to wherever Hannibal deems ‘home’ to be. Hannibal is the first to break the silence, though he too doesn’t avert his gaze from the road. </p><p>“I have angered many people since our separation, including one or two rather  powerful criminal orchestrates. It has been a rather convoluted few months, and in a number of instances I am still amidst the process of ridding myself of some rather unfair debts.” </p><p>Will’s eyebrows brush his hairline, and he graces the profile of Hannibal's face with a skeptical look.</p><p>“And was it all necessary?”</p><p>The older man's lip curls into a patronizing grimace, and his reply is tinted with offense. </p><p>“I abstain from anything that is not necessary. I have had to pull many far-reaching strings in order to facilitate my discrete recovery, as well as maintain a number of assets despite an inability to access many crucial systems while the FBI and similar organizations are still on high alert.”</p><p>This all more or less makes sense. Nevertheless it’s oddly disconcerting for Will to see Hannibal as anything other than in total carefree control. </p><p>“How did you find me?”</p><p>At this Hannibal seems to perk up, as if in self-congratulation. </p><p>“I followed you.”</p><p>“You knew that I was being tracked?”</p><p>Both men wince respectively, Will after the thought that he hadn’t picked up on the tails earlier, and Hannibal because he hadn’t been more cautious with Will’s safety. </p><p>“I suspected that there may have been a slight possibility, however I was not under the impression that you were being targeted at such a substantial degree.”</p><p>Hannibal finally turns his head to lock eyes with Will for little more than a moment, yet still long enough to convey sincerity,</p><p>“I apologize Will. It is not often that I find myself so upsettingly unprepared.”</p><p>Will nods his head in acceptance of the sentiment, though doesn’t vocalize the notion that if that savage assailant had been Hannibal unprepared, then godspeed to all his adversaries. </p><p>“What language were they speaking?”</p><p>“I believe it was Romanian.”</p><p>Light pin-pricks of rain begin to dribble down the windscreen.</p><p>Hannibal drives them through many winding roads, out of the main bustles of Vilnius and into the country. His property is about 50 minutes away from the city limits, nestled just inside a wide clearing within a woodland of European larch trees. The home is rustically wooden, all straight angles and two stories high. Warm, brilliantly orange light shines through the many tall glass doors and windows that give the residence an open and spacious appearance and yet, on closer inspection, actually reveal very little of the buildings inside.</p><p>Hannibal parks the car and steps outside, walking around to open Will’s door for him and embarrassingly assisting the younger man in standing. Will flusters and makes a small fuss of holding himself upright, until he takes a step and can't help but emit a small groan at the sharp pain in his torso where he was struck. </p><p>Just as the two men begin their slow and marginally unbalanced ascent to Hannibal's doorway, the rain thickens tenfold. Light speckles of water turn to small stinging bullets within a matter of seconds. Will is marginally surprised by the soft, frustrated grunt that Hannibal expresses - so unlike him to be deterred by a force of nature. His grip around Will’s shoulder tightens and their pace towards the sheltered doorway increases. </p><p>Once undercover, Hannibal leans Will carefully against the wall, and digs deep into his back pocket for a set of keys.<br/>
Will glances down at himself. He is utterly drenched. The extravagant clothes that he purchased earlier are torn and muddied where they were dragged across the ground. The silken left sleeve of his shirt is ripped open and soaked not only by the formidable rain but with dark, thick blood. It all makes Will deeply skeptical as to why he’d even bothered. Life’s cruelest irony.<br/>
He can’t help but chuckle - a small good-humored snigger, which after glancing back up at Hannibal slotting the key into the large mahogany door, turns into outright laughter. </p><p>Hannibal turns his whole body towards Will, the unguarded micro-expression on his face one of concerned dismay. He must think Will is having some form of episode. Something about Hannibal’s clear distress seeps all of the humor out of Will, leaving him staring into the eyes of the taller man with an abruptly lost look. He seems to be doing a great deal of peering into this man’s eyes recently. Will finds it to be a welcome if disconcerting change.<br/>
In an unexpected surge of longing conviction, Will reaches out to slide his willowy hand into the other’s broad yet simultaneously slender one, marveling at the contrast of ivory pale and bronzed skin. Hannibal's eyes widen and his lips split apart somewhat as his usually rapid-fire mind computes the sensation. </p><p>“Will?”</p><p>Alarm bells ring off like a chain event in Will’s mind, and his already throbbing chest constricts, however a small sick part of himself enjoys having the upper hand for once, and so he tries his best at hiding the trepidation. Despite this, his supremacy is all too soon cast aside when Hannibal smiles at him, and turns to lead him inside, never letting Will’s hand slip from within his own.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter is 100% dedicated to blanc, whose lovely comment left me encouraged to write during every spare second over the past 2 days! I hope this chapter lives up to the last  xx</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I was not <em>entirely<em> sober when editing this chapter, so I apologize if there are more typos than normal. This chapter is mostly fluff and very little plot. </em></em></p><p> </p><p>  <em><br/><em>There is a very brief reference to suicide so take care of yourselves :)</em><br/></em></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hannibal leads Will through a long, intimidating hallway. It’s wooden walls stretch upwards to what must be the ceiling of the second story, and are adorned with expansive, deep wine coloured tapestries. The passage is illuminated by the same orange glow that could be seen shining through the windows outside. Two grand door frames are embedded into the either wall wall at the end of the hall, their wooden frames entirely engraved with small images liken to those of ancient Greek friezes.<br/>
Will is led through the doorway to their right, which opens up into a cozy yet elegant drawing room. </p><p>The thickly carpeted space is furnished with old-fashioned divan sofas embroidered with coffee and golden stitching. A low polished table, again carved of wood, occupies the center of the room, upon which is placed a twisted ceramic bowl. A number of framed windows are embedded into the wall at the far end of the room, exposing the now darkening and stormy evening outside.Two of the remaining walls are completely hidden by towering bookshelves which are lined fully with large, ostentatious looking novels and manuscripts. The final wall is entirely built out of stone, within which sits an immense fireplace, already crackling within the hearth. The blazing fire sends flickering shimmers of light through the impressive, multi-layered glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Above the fireplace hangs a darkly crude painting - Franz von Stuck, Inferno. </p><p>Hannibal finally slips his hand out from within Will’s, and Will can almost feel his palm grow chilled and white at the loss. The older man guides his companion to be seated upon one of the pristine couches, and disappears back into the hall, only to appear a few minutes later with a cloth and bowl of water. He kneels on the floor in front of Will, gently brushing the coat off from his shoulders and peeling the fabric of his shirt from where it clings to the congealing blood against his skin. </p><p>Hannibal tuts as he unwraps the make-do bandage from around Will’s arm to expose the curved cut, rinsing out the cloth in warm water and setting about cleaning the wound. </p><p>“There is no point bandaging this again <em>properly</em> before we have both showered. Do you think you can manage that by yourself?” </p><p>Will almost regrets that Hannibal’s query comes across as purely professional, and then finds himself puzzling over his regret.<br/>
As Hannibal dabs away at the pulsing wound, Will experiences a wave of deja vu, his mind cutting back to Florence, as well as the misty memories of his repressed and rather unorthodox appointments in Hannibal's old office prior to Will’s imprisonment. At least now as he’s being medically fussed upon by Hannibal he remains lucid and consenting. That is progress. </p><p>Once Hannibal has finished, the previously cream-colored cloth floats within the bowl, stained and bleeding out into the darkening water. Will glances down at Hannibal, something jumping inside of him as he catches the man gazing up at him with wide almost adorning eyes. A quenched feeling close to desire flares up inside Will, though he quells it immediately and can’t help but assume that he has interpreted the look incorrectly. The man below raises two long fingers to brush against his cheek, and Will winces, turning his head away from the touch as he realizes that he’s tracing the puckered skin of his scar. </p><p>“Why do you shy away from this? This is far from your only embellishment, need I remind you of the smile carved into your stomach. Perhaps you are unwilling to fully embrace the realities of that night?”</p><p>Will grits his teeth, unwilling and almost embarrassed to admit that his rejection of the scar stems from a place of vanity. He has never been one to care remotely about his appearance, and yet Hannibal so often seems to fixate upon the details of a face, Will is virtually dismayed that his has been altered in such an obvious way. He is also fully aware that Hannibal’s provocative hypothesis is intended to evoke a heated yet honest response from him. </p><p>“It’s vulgar.”</p><p>Hannibal uses a bent knuckle to turn the scarred cheek back into his line of view, now refraining from touching the raised skin itself, though the pads of his fingertips remain light against the skin close to Will’s cheekbone.</p><p>“On the contrary mano meile. It is striking, in the same way that a canvas becomes increasingly beautiful only once it has been tarnished.”</p><p>Will frowns, ducking his head as he processes the adorned statement. Hannibal stands and gestures for Will to follow suit. </p><p>“If it truly displeases you, I could treat it so that the scar tissue becomes less obvious, however I would prefer that you didn’t ask that of me.”</p><p>Will follows behind as the taller man leads him out of the drawing room and through the adjacent doorway. Just inside a curving case of stairs leads the two men up to the second story. Will is guided inside an en-suite containing a luxuriously soft looking king-sized bed, as well as numerous chiseled wardrobes and draws. The walls are decorated with paintings of Greek mythology, featuring draping silken peplos, muscled centaurs and warring gods. The rooms furnishings maintain an indigo hue, contrary to the deep reds of the house’s lower level.</p><p>Hannibal stretches his arm out to gesture towards a doorway cut into the far wall of the alarmingly fanciful room. </p><p>“The bathroom and shower is through that door, and you should find a number of clothes to select from within the closets. I will shower also and reconvene downstairs when you are ready.”</p><p>With that he sweeps out of the bedroom, pulling the door shut behind him with a subtle click. </p><p>Will can’t quite place the feeling of disheartenment that fumbles within his chest at the coldness of Hannibal's company. It’s as if he is unsure, though Will cannot imagine that this is the case. He seems to be withholding some fundamental ease that has almost always been present in their previous relations. </p><p>As Will strips from his ruined clothes and steps into the capacious shower, he can’t help but feel that he can relate to Hannibal’s possible reasoning somewhat. Will himself feels unsure as to the capacity of their new relationship, which is not helped by his confusion as to the capacity that he desires. </p><p>Beads of water slip from his chin and dart out like laser lines from his fingers. The searingly heated water runs muddied pink and then finally clear as the grit is washed from his skin, and yet he stands with his head hung with weariness under the stream of water far after he is clean.<br/>
Anxiety twists within his stomach at the thought of joining Hannibal back in front of the fire. </p><p>His interactions with the psychiatrist have almost always been ones of realization, and yet previously he could preoccupy them with unsolved criminal investigations, and now he only has himself left to realize. It’s almost more difficult for Will to admit that he desires Hannibal than it is for him to acknowledge the sparks of pleasure - power - that he feels in ending a life. It’s harder in fact. At least the latter is an idea that he has directly fought with before. This feeling of hunger is one that he hasn’t before perceived, and yet now that he has, he isn’t sure how far back the feeling began. Will is aware that in the brief few hours he has spent with Hannibal, he’s become even lonelier, as remaining so close yet so distant from the others presence leaves something to be longed for. And always, there is the fear that this want for Hannibal is too unpredictable, too forbidden and chaotic to be sustained. </p><p>On a secondary note, Will hesitates amidst the surrounding steam owing to the fact that the boiling water acts as a much-needed relief after days of long travel and high tension. He tries his hardest to clear his mind of worry while much of the tightness roping within his arms slips away with the steady stream of water. Stealing himself, he finally turns the water off and reaches for a too-soft towel - which is <em>finally</em> available - to dry himself with. </p><p>The wardrobes are stocked with far too many clothes, the sheer quantity making colour rise to his cheeks. He selects dark slacks and a shamrock green, v-necked sweater. He elects to leave his feet bare, and pads down the carpeted stairs towards the lounge. </p><p>Hannibal stands silhouetted against the fireplace with his hands clasped behind his back, tight in the way that the veins in them stand out more profusely than usual. His entire demeanor radiates contemplation. Though Will thinks he slips into the room entirely silently, the man pivots upon his entrance to direct his contemplating expression towards Will, his eyes running across the entirety of Will’s figure as a pleased smirk graces his lips. Will is fully aware that Hannibal will have meticulously stocked his wardrobes only with attire that he is pleased to see the younger man donning.  </p><p>Hannibal’s wet hair is combed back and he sports a pair of pressed black trousers and a button down, cream coloured dress shirt. The material is thin enough to flutter slightly against the movement of the fire's flames before him, which also casts darting shadows across his face, accentuating his already prominent cheekbones. He is beautiful. Will quells the unwelcome thought before it can string itself out any further. </p><p>As if noticing the silent seconds slipping by, Hannibal's blank expression cracks with the smallest quirk of his lips, and he turns, bending down to pour Will a glass of wine- dark red to complement the room’s colour palette - which he offers to Will. </p><p>“I will ask you to forgive me - I have already poured myself a glass. I have no excuse aside from voracity. If you are hungry I have food prepared?”</p><p>Will raises his hand to refuse the offer of food, however accepts the wine with what he hopes is a gracious nod. He sinks into the sofa with a soft sigh, tucking his legs up onto the cushions underneath him. Hannibal follows suit, elegantly folding one leg over the other and flattening out the already smooth fabric of his shirt. </p><p>Hannibal stares unblinking at a point just below Will’s left air, his mind clearly too preoccupied to register anything visually. After a few moments his eyes flick over to Will’s, curiosity clearly lingering within the crimson orbs. </p><p>“Do you wish to stay here Will?”</p><p>Will doesn’t initially understand, and yet when the question does hit home he becomes rather startled. </p><p>“You mean live here permanently?”</p><p>Will mulls the idea over in his head for a few moments, inspecting it like a new suit. The notion hadn’t even grazed his mind until now. He pictures them strolling through the streets of Lithuania, the very streets which crafted Hannibal's person. He imagines immersing himself within Hannibal’s being, familiarizing himself with his deeper facets, finally learning to know the child that shaped the monster.<br/>
He pictures always dodging shadows of the past, the untouchable castle and all it’s memories encroaching upon their long awaited peace. </p><p>“No.”</p><p>Hannibal nods, a quick satisfied jerk of the head accompanied by a contemplative hum.  </p><p>“Good, neither do I. In fact if circumstance permits I would have us leave Lithuania at the earliest convenience.”</p><p>Despite recognizing that Lithuania holds a number of old demons for his companion, Will is surprised at the haste. </p><p>“Why is that?”</p><p>“My time here has served its purpose.”</p><p>“That purpose being for me to locate you?”</p><p>Hannibal smirks and tilts his chin to the side in an admission of amusement.</p><p>“Among other things, yes. It was meaningful to me that we were reunited in this place where so much else has been lost; to cheat fate, if you will.”</p><p>Hannibal raises a half-empty glass of wine to his lips, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply before tipping the liquid down his throat. After another moment of tranquil stillness - punctured only by the soft melody of a cello echoing out from a record player balanced atop one of the many bookshelves - he speaks again. </p><p>“In Ancient Greece, the Moirai were the three goddesses of fate - Klotho who would spin the thread of life, Lakhesis whose purpose it was to measure the thread, and finally Atropos who would cut the thread short, thus determining man's moment of death. Even Zeus himself was submissent to them.” </p><p>Will can easily detect the satisfaction that briefly twists Hannibal's lips, pleased at the weakness of such an almighty deity. </p><p>“The Roman poet Statius claimed that suicide was the only escape from fate - ‘<em>"Of thy own will and pleasure slain, ay, even against the will of Fata, thou hast forcest an entrance to the gloomy Manes.</em>’. I however have found other escapes.”</p><p>Will cannot help but huff in delight at the other man's conviction.</p><p>“Do enlighten me dear doctor.”</p><p>Hannibal suspiciously regards the younger man sitting across from him, as if weary of being patronized. He then graces Will with a malevolent grin, his pointed teeth almost flickering in the firelight. </p><p>“<em>Strange things conspire when one tries to cheat fate.</em> One could say that I have dedicated my life to the epitome of strangeness, to the point that I cannot imagine any conspiracy superseding such oddity. And if God ever throws something my way too peculiar to overcome, I will gladly step aside.``</p><p>The grin extends across Hannibal's face as Will chuckles, the mask slowly slipping away. </p><p>“And what about me Hannibal? Am I also so strange as to rise above anything fate can throw my way, or shall I resign to damnation from here on out?”</p><p>Hannibal absentmindedly swirls his wine, teasingly contemplating Will’s query as if it was up to him to decide. </p><p>“I believe I shall just have to protect you.”</p><p>The simple words ignite a warmth with Will’s stomach, the ever present ache become suddenly harder to ignore. The implications must dawn on Hannibal also, as the curve of his lips even out as the mask reasserts itself.<br/>
‘Dismayed at the loss of connection, Will reaches out to place his glass upon the table with a sharp clink and shuffles forward until his folded knee brushes against the side of Hannibal’s thigh. From here is unsure of his next move. </p><p>He can almost feel Hannibal's control solidifying as Will becomes more and more flustered. This frustrates the younger man. It is so unlike Hannibal to show any hint that he may experience even an ounce of vulnerability and Will knows that he himself is too intimidated to show any in return when Hannibal’s veil is drawn. And yet he desperately needs to explore something, as the tangled emotive confusion in his mind is becoming all-consuming. The man beside him has cocked his head, eyeing Will with deepening curiosity. Will wants so badly to disarm him. </p><p>It takes every grain of courage contained within Will for him to open his palms and press them against the expanse of Hannibal's chest. He can feel the older man’s solid heartbeat, thrumming against the cage of his chest. It’s steady pace doesn’t falter, and yet Hannibal's lips part ever so slightly with an almost inaudible intake of breath. His chest rises and falls methodically, calming Will in the same way that the predictable tick of a clock's hands had always calmed him as a child. </p><p>“Will.”</p><p>His name slips from between Hannibal’s lips. The utterance contains everything from a gentle query to a dark warning. Will frowns, selecting his next words carefully. </p><p>“I just want to know you.”</p><p>Through his silence, Hannibal gives his permission. Will doesn’t intend to push any boundaries. He knows himself that this level of intimacy already threatens to be too much for him, and yet he wants to reach <em>something</em>. After a long pause he moves his fingers up to the top button of Hannibal's thin shirt, fumbling faintly to undo the first few clasps. </p><p>After the top five buttons have come undone, Will is confronted by a wave of disconcertion as he catches sight of the pale bandages wrapped tightly around Hannibal’s waist. His mind is cast back briefly to the cliff’s precipice, Hannibal twisting his body without a second's hesitation to take the greater impact of the frothing ocean as they tumbled into its midst. Still, it is not natural for Will’s mind to regard Hannibal as injured.<br/>
The older man’s resonating drawl interrupts his thoughts, and while his explanation is practical, his words remain soft and retiring. </p><p>“At this point, my bandages are simply precautionary. I have virtually reached a full recovery, however I have often found that cautious foresight when possible is entirely beneficial in the long run.”</p><p>Will runs his fingers along the other man’s throat and down his chest, Hannibal's chin tilting slightly as Will grazes his jugular. Despite being partially covered by the gauze bandage, Hannibal's torso is softened by silver-blond hairs and is impressively toned even after months of rehabilitation. Will’s fingers feather through the hair, and he finds himself overcome by the seductive masculinity of the physique before him.<br/>
As he meets the older man's eyes his actions falter at the raging turbulence that he finds swimming within them. Will realizes he has taken for granted that he may not be the only one of the pair experiencing turmoil over their current relationship. Hannibal is gazing across at Will, seemingly unable to look away, his expression both pained yet plagued by desire. </p><p>Will startles, sliding back away from the daunting figure before him to the other end of the seat, both intrigued and embarrassed at his own actions. Hannibal remains still, and when Will meets his eyes again from across the sofa, he finds only regal serenity stirring within them, leaving Will wondering whether there was really anything else there and whether he had only been projecting his own chaotic emotions onto the psychiatrist. He doesn’t know what to say other than the unembellished truth. </p><p>“I’m confused, Hannibal.”</p><p>Hannibal eyes crease with lines of fondness as he reaches up to close his shirt, however leaving the top three buttons comfortably undone. </p><p>“I know mylimasis.”</p><p>He rises to his feet, placing his glass on the table beside Will’s and extending a hand out in order to pull the seated man up also. </p><p>“Much has happened in such a very brief time. Sleep, and afterwards we will work towards clarity.”</p><p>Will offers the man above him a bashful smile, grateful at being offered the escape route. And yet he doesn’t reach for the hand outstretched before him, opting instead to remain still. Hannibal tilts his head to the side as he often does when amused by his counterpart.  </p><p>“Why are you lingering?”</p><p>Will frowns, searching himself for an honest answer to the question.</p><p>“I don’t want to be left alone.”</p><p>Hannibal's expression flickers with a wave of melancholy tenderness as he surveys the uncharacteristically vulnerable soul before him. He tilts a little at the waist extending his hand further. </p><p>“Come mano meile. You do not have to be alone.” </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Hannibal leads Will back up the winding stairs, which evokes an unpleasant anticipation in Will at being delivered back to his isolated bedroom for the night despite Hannibal's previous promise. Instead of directing Will into his guest room however, Hannibal leads him past the en-suite to the end of a further long corridor which exposes yet another small flight of stairs. At the top of the stairs Hannibal pushes open a handle-less door with his shoulder, holding it open for Will, who steps into the only room of the unexpected third story. </p><p>It’s another en-suite, marginally larger than Will’s had been, furnished with grandiose golds and black. Hannibal's room. Will releases the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding; he did not have to be isolated tonight. Still, he turns to Hannibal, casting him a question look with one raised eyebrow that comes across perhaps a fraction sassier than intended, though this disguises the true seeking of reassurance underneath. Hannibal mirrors the guise, raising his own pale eyebrow as if to say ‘really Will, who do you take me for?’ in a way that indicates innocence. Will knows that Hannibal is anything but innocent, his every micro-expression a carefully calculated choice. </p><p>“Would you be comfortable remaining here for the night, Will? As much as you do not wish to be abandoned, I also do not wish to leave you tonight.” </p><p>The words are spoken in his ever pragmatic monotone, and yet the sentiment beneath them isn’t markedly concealed, instead it is exposed for Will to heed and do with as he wishes. He dips his head, grateful again that Hannibal is laying out such an easy and opportune path for him to follow. </p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>Hannibal once again mirrors Will, inclining his head in acceptance of the thanks. He turns, disappearing into a side room and calling lowly behind him,</p><p>“You will find more comfortable attire in the draw to your left.” </p><p>Before he disappears into what Will assumes must be a washroom he turns, one hand on the door frame and light humor tugging at his accent, “Try not to allow your intriguing overly analytical mind twist yourself into a state of distress. For lack of a better phrase, please ‘make yourself at home’.”</p><p>Will is almost taken aback by the remark. He is of course used to the wily psychiatrist sensing his inner reactions, however is not accustomed to the man selflessly attempting to calm them. </p><p>He switches his stiff dress pants, sliding on instead a pair of soft grey sweatpants. He elects to leave his jumper on. Hannibal would never risk startling Will by walking in on him while he might be changing clothes. Likely he is expecting Will to wait until he has finished with the washroom before changing there himself. Alarm rises in Will, tightening his throat as he tries to mentally navigate their conversation once Hannibal has again joined him, so instead he boldly switches the light off and slips in between the bed-sheets so as to appear to be already drowsing. He takes a moment to run the bare skin of his hands across the satin sheets, marveling silently and the ludicrous texture, while simultaneously wondering if he’ll ever be able to again sleep between harsh cotton. </p><p>Hannibal exits the bathroom after a few minutes, pausing briefly as he spies Will already lying within the bed. From across the dark room, Will feels fairly safe peering at Hannibal without the others awareness, and so experiences a sharp pang of dread as he wonders if perhaps he has misunderstood the older man's invitation. Hannibal however resumes his movement a single second later, his lapse in fluidity almost too quick to place. He has also changed from his formal wear, now sporting a pair of loose drawstring trousers that sit low on his hips and a navy sweatshirt similar to Will’s.<br/>
Will ponders whether he should have worn a collared shirt downstairs, and whether the one he has on now should have actually been reserved only for sleeping in. There seem to be so many unspoken rules in the world of the exponentially wealthy, how easy it is to mortify oneself. </p><p>Hannibal pads softly over to the bedside, gliding between the sheets himself and lying almost unnaturally still on his side facing away from the younger man. His voice is soft, almost a purr, as he addresses the quiet. </p><p>“Tomorrow I will arrange for our departure from Lithuania, and then our reincarnation can truly begin. No more stolen moments and tentative exchanges.”</p><p>The words don’t beg acknowledgement so Will remains silent, maintaining his useless facade of sleep, surrounded by an air of both calm and terror as he lays in the dark beside Hannibal. </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Will has always woken with a sudden start, his limbs jolting as if hitting the ground after a short fall. This morning however awareness seeps into him slowly like a shallow stream of water, so that he doesn’t become aware of his consciousness until it has fully encroached upon him. He blinks, squirming within slippery sheets until his eyes can peel back without clouding his vision. The room is still dark, and yet the thin strip of yellow cutting through the curtains indicates that it’s bright outside. The awareness that he is in Hannibal room and has all night been in Hannibal's room, dawns on him equally slowly enough for his demeanor to remain unusually calm. </p><p>He recalls waking up once within the night - his breath coming in short sharp pants - on the edge of a night terror. Unusually he hadn’t been able to recall the dream itself, which usually comes flooding back to him so vividly after waking. He had turned his head to the side and caught sight of Hannibal's long silhouette in the blackness, the latter’s exhalations deep and rhythmic, which in turn steadied Will’s own hollow breaths. It had been a completely unfamiliar feeling - being in the same room as Hannibal and yet having the daunting presence be somewhat subdued and unaware in the midst of sleep. The dulled intensity was a sensation that Will had to adjust himself to. It had taken him only a few minutes to fall back under, and he’d done so feeling an unfamiliar safeness. </p><p>Now the decadently decorated room was empty aside from Will himself. He draws his feet over the side of the bed and peers at his watch through the shaded light - <em>6:33</em>. He hesitates, unsure of whether to remain in his casual sleepwear or creep down to his guestroom to riffle again through the overwhelming supply of clothes there. Will instead elects to slip into the attire he wore only briefly last night, before trotting down to the home's lower level. After peeping into the lounge he finds it devoid of Hannibal, so takes the opportunity to snoop through the massive house until he finds the older man lurking, of course, in the kitchen. </p><p>Hannibal has changed into fresh slacks and a purple floral dress shirt, the firm outlines of his muscled shoulders roll beneath the fabric as he flips two eggs sizzling utop the stove. His head turns in acknowledgment of Will’s arrival, though doesn’t fully face him.</p><p>“Good morning Will. I am pleased to know that you have taken the opportunity to sleep in. Dare I say that you looked exhausted last night - understandably so.”</p><p>Will grimaces at Hannibal's could-be mischievous smirk. While he usually rises a bit earlier than this, he doesn’t think that a 6:30 sleep in warrants any applause. His nostrils flare at the smell of eggs, which boasts an insane amount of spice for a simple breakfast.</p><p>“Smells good.”</p><p>Hannibal blinks, marginally unaccustomed to the lack of defensiveness from the subdued morning Will. </p><p>“That is good.” </p><p>He tips the eggs expertly onto slices of avocado toast and offers one plate to Will. Both men sit down opposite one another at a marble island centered in the middle of the kitchen. The eggs are insanely good.</p><p>“I have taken the opportunity to arrange our flights for this afternoon. I had wanted to consult with you as to our next permanent destination, however if it doesn’t bother you I was hoping to perhaps visit Bruges, Belgium before settling down more permanently.” Hannibal glances up at Will mid-bite, his face neutral yet pleasant. “There are a few matters which I would like to attend to before fully relaxing.”</p><p>Will raises his eyebrows.</p><p>“Matters?”</p><p>A taunting smirk.</p><p>“Nothing pressing. And aside from such tedious tasks, Belgium is a beautiful country - I would like to show it to you.”</p><p>Will chews his food thoughtfully. Really he doesn’t have any idea what he had foreseen for the future location-wise, being too focused himself on the psychological aspect of their relationship. He’d never been to Belgium.<br/>
He hadn’t really seen much of Lithuania though either, and despite not wanting to remain in the situationally haunted country for long, he had hoped that remaining here for a small while would allow him to work at truly unraveling Hannibal’s person suit, which had unfortunately sewn itself back up since their reunion at Lecter Castle. Hannibal breaks the silence after Will’s lack of reply becomes evident. </p><p>“You look surprised.”</p><p>“I just wasn’t expecting everything to happen so soon. You said <em>this</em> afternoon? How did you even get flights for then?”</p><p>“I am rather selfishly eager to move on, though of course if you wish to remain in Lithuania for the time being we shall do so. As for how I procured the flights, I assure you it was nothing illegal. I was lucky enough to call just after a few convenient cancellations had been made.”</p><p>Will pauses with a forkful of food half way to his lips, his alarm system triggered by the potential implications. </p><p>“Are the passengers that cancelled still alive?”</p><p>Hannibal furrows his brow, casting an incredulous look across the table.</p><p>“Believe it or not, I am not so desperate to leave so soon that I would endanger our safety with such implied recklessness. This is simply a lucky happenstance.”</p><p>Will hesitantly decides to trust him, worried both for the loss of innocent life and that Hannibal may still be concealing his actions from him, and yet doubtful that the dangerous man would go to so much effort over such a small matter. </p><p>“Don’t go telling me now that you believe in luck.”</p><p>“I believe in luck of my own creation.”</p><p>“Well then it isn’t really luck.”</p><p>Hannibal pulls his shoulders back with an air of importance, a motion that neither confirms nor denies the comment. </p><p>“Certainly not if you look at it that way.”</p><p>Will decides to take the bait, yet convinced that he’s about to be insulted somehow. </p><p>“In what way?”</p><p>“As if you were not the only influencer of your own future. You cannot allow others to hold sway over your existence in this life Will, as in doing so you risk becoming just another mindless puppet within the endless void.”</p><p>“I guess then that I don’t hold any sway over your life.”</p><p>Hannibal cocks his head thoughtfully, his lip and nose twitching up in the antsy way of his, exposing the tips of pointed teeth. Will has come to realize that the tremor arises whenever the man is pushed either too far into or away from the comforts of his superiority complex. Will wonders which it is now. </p><p>“On the contrary. You hold far too much influence, however you have yet to dip your toe into the waters and pull at the strings. I am curious, if not rather unnerved, as to what will happen when you find the courage to do so.”</p><p>Will considers the remark, not sure whether it is an invitation or a warning.</p><p>“I guess you will dance, Dr Lecter.”</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Will gazes out the small rectangular window of the airplane, watching as the orange green landscapes of Vilnius become fainter and fainter. He startles as Hannibal's low sultry voice rumbles from the seat next to him. </p><p>“It is disconcerting, watching one's home disappear into an insignificant speck, I would think the feeling is much like viewing the entire earth from space. It is humbling to watch as the place of your creation becomes little more than a shape below.”</p><p>Will can feel the wistful waves rolling outwards from the man beside him, yet beyond his initial empathetic reaction, can’t remember ever experiencing anything similar.  </p><p>“I didn’t feel that way flying away from America.”</p><p>“Perhaps you were not created by America.”</p><p>Will glances at Hannibal, unsure whether he is willing to vocalize his next admission.</p><p>“Until today, anything that has ever had a hand in creating me has always walked away.”</p><p>The corners of Hannibal's mouth tug, yet he maintains his unremarkable expression. </p><p>“I have had no hand in creating you Will, I simply presented to you what others had already shaped.”</p><p>Will frowns, distracted by the surge of appraisal that Hannibal's every word requires. </p><p>“I can’t think who or what else could have had a hand in my creation if not you.”</p><p>Hannibal is obviously pleased, though unwilling to confess to it.</p><p>“It is possible to create yourself mylimasis. Those of us who are strongest don’t rely on others to do so, in the same way that the strongest of us determine our own fate.”</p><p>Will rests his head back against his seat, casting his eyes away from the sinking landscape outside and instead focusing on where he is now, with Hannibal. </p><p>“I understand.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>To any of you with netflix, if you haven't already I totally recommend going onto their website and into 'request shows' and typing in Hannibal Season 4. This has become part of my morning ritual 😢</p><p>Love to hear any feedback about this chapter - I'm always nervous writing fluff for Hannigram because it can be so hard to find the balance between serious and emotional cannibal. </p><p>xx</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter ended up so long! </p><p>The past few days have been very interrupted, making it hard to get into a steady rhythm, which I'm a bit disappointed about as this chapter wasn't the best to write when distracted. HOWEVER, I now just want to post it. </p><p>Warning - this one does become sexual towards the end.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Belgium <em>is</em> beautiful. Though Will and Hannibal arrive in Brussels at night, the shimmering lights and tiny angular silhouettes of the buildings below capture Will’s attention. The plane touches down in Brussels airport at 12:03 in the morning, and the pair hire a cab for the 2 hour drive to Bruges.<br/>
Will is exhausted after a full day of packing - all Hannibal’s fancy and scary <em>stuff</em>, and stuff for Will <em>from</em> Hannibal - locking down Hannibal's house in Lithuania, and focusing intently as the older man had taken him through a number of false papers and a passport that he’d secured for Will prior to his arrival in the country. </p><p>Will lays his head against the vibrating taxi window, allowing the tremors to distract him from the day's hustle. The change over Hannibal after their touchdown in Belgium was almost tangible to Will, subtle as it was. It had been as if a shroud was lifted, allowing him to move more freely, think more theatrically. Will had been relieved as Hannibal allowed a more natural rhythm to fall between them, guiding the younger man through the airport with a hand ghosting his shoulder and leaning over to mutter judging quips in his ear as they surveyed the people hurrying back and forth across the airport. </p><p>Eventually Will’s head begins to tip and jolt as he slides in and out of cognizance, before he finally succumbs to the temptation of sleep. Hannibal stares fixedly out of the taxi window into the stretching night until Will’s head droops, at which point his gaze flicks itself over to the sleeping figure, his expression becoming tenderly somber. When the taxi pulls to a stop on the curb beside their destination Hannibal leans over to brush down the sleeping man's collar, eliciting a few drowsy huffs.<br/>
Will blinks into awareness, gruffly rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand to clear his vision despite the darkness outside. </p><p>“We have arrived in Bruges Will. I have booked us a room to stay in, a few more minutes and you can sleep more comfortably.”</p><p>Will smiles - still half asleep - in reply, though doubts that Hannibal can see through the shadows between them. He almost rolls out of the car, shuffling around and lugging one of their large suitcases from the taxi’s trunk in each hand. He follows Hannibal’s departing profile towards the entrance of their hotel, which looks more like a castle - it’s entrance-way illuminated by multiple lamps, adding to the already impressive buildings magnificence within the surrounding blackness. Old-worldly looking vines climb precisely up the white-brick walls, which taper off into pointed blue turrets.<br/>
Once passing through the towering entrance-way he glances around for Hannibal, finding him talking to a sharp looking lady with a painfully tight ponytail and long nose standing behind the front desk. Will hovers just inside the entrance way, his fatigued mind not yet ready to introduce another person into his small circle of connections, even the brief attention of the receptionist. The lobby is fitted with a thick ruby carpet that Will’s shoes sink into with every minute shuffle. Two wide, lightly golden stairways curve around to the hallways of the second floor, the stair themselves shining almost glass-like. Will screws his eyes shut, almost too tired to compute these new settings so different to the plain, homely surroundings of his past. </p><p>After another minute Hannibal bends, lifting the two great suitcases below him and turning to locate Will, before beckoning that he follows him across the foyer. </p><p>“Not far now tired one.”</p><p>Will grimaces at the endearment clearly meant to evoke a prickly retort from the younger man, which of course it does, though his response is murmured halfheartedly through the haze of his dragging mind. </p><p>“What did you call me?”</p><p>Hannibal only twists the corner of his lip upward victoriously, beginning his gracefully nimble ascent up one of the daunting staircases. </p><p>Will traipses after his provocative companion through a series of further luxuriously carpeted halls of gold and burgundy. His entire life now seems to shift from one display of grandiosity to another. The muscles of Will’s arms are aching by the time they finally reach their guestroom, which of course is just as lavishly decorated as the rest of the establishment, though Will is honestly too tired to pay any attention to such decadence at this point. He simply drops his two suitcases just inside the doorway and pads after Hannibal towards the bathroom to douse his hands under the cool water running into the sink.</p><p>Prior to their departure from Lithuania, Hannibal hand painted an ungodly amount of makeup upon both of their faces, which Will agreed to only after a great deal of complaining. The effect however had been shocking - both of their faces altered noticeably in colour, shape and overall feature. It wasn’t enough to escape a comprehensive search if they were discovered, however it provided an appeasing security.<br/>
They’d also both worn plain black and white work suits instead of Hannibal's usual quirky yet sophisticated attire and Will’s casual flannel or plain formal wear. Will had been internally enthralled at the way Hannibal changed his whole demeanor as they entered the airport, his posture becoming subtly more bent and angular, while his walk contained a more jolting swagger. He’d felt oddly cut off from the man until they were seated on the plane and Hannibal relaxed slightly into his usual pretentiously fluid mannerisms. </p><p>Both men now stand bent over the sink, scrubbing at their faces as the dark hues of what Will guesses is an exclusively professional brand of eye-liner and foundation mingle with the water.<br/>
Will quenches a surge of relief as Hannibal rises from the sink, the makeup washed away, his usual high cheekbones and curving mouth staring back at Will instead of the unfamiliar disguise.<br/>
He feels an urge to say something momentous - acknowledge their first moments together in Belgium and what might be the beginning of their new existences, and yet both his mind and body are plagued by a groggy vagueness. Hannibal seems less preoccupied by the monumental moment, choosing simply to eye Will’s reflection through the glass mirror above the sink, his head tipped to the side and his lips curled into something not quite like a smirk, but close to the fact. So instead Will locks eyes with Hannibal, spurred by the urge to communicate something that he isn’t even aware of, before stumbling towards the single bedroom, stripping off his shirt and shoes and finally falling between the heavy blankets. He succumbs asleep too quickly to register the mattress dipping with the other man's weight as Hannibal reclines beside him only moments afterward. </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Will wakes groggily 5 hours later, satin sheets pooling around his waist and evading the grasps of his clenching toes. His back arches, his body forming a crescent curve amidst the bed sheets, letting out a satisfied sigh as his back clicks in multiple places. He still feels slightly dozy, yet his exhaustion from the night before has worn away. </p><p>“Good morning Will.”</p><p>Will offers a hum in reply, directing his blurred morning vision towards the greeting and blinking a few times to moisten the surfaces of his cornea. The bedroom door sits ajar, and through it Will can just make out the outline of Hannibal sitting poised over a large wooden table in the corner of the room, typing on a laptop of all things. The silver-sleek modern device doesn’t look suited to Hannibal’s aesthetic in the slightest. Will’s internal eyebrows dance at seeing Hannibal use anything other than a fountain pen and paper, though the rapid clicking of keys indicates that the timeless man isn’t unpracticed in the art of technology. Of course he isn’t, it just doesn’t feel natural for Will to observe - his world with Hannibal feels beyond the trivial and clumsy reach of technological modernism.<br/>
Hannibal hasn’t looked up despite his acknowledgement of Will’s awakened state. </p><p>Will swings his legs over the side of the mattress, momentarily mortified as he realizes that in his haste to slut-eye the night before, he’d simply cast his shirt aside, his instincts too far gone to think of replacing it with another. He drags one of their suitcases over to the bed, unzipping the brimming bag and fishing through it for a jersey, which he hastily tugs on over an unruly mop of curls. His modesty is likely redundant however, sure that Hannibal has already taken the opportunity to regard Will’s state of undress, if not simply with the intent that it would surely unnerve the younger man. Will’s pants are now shamefully crumpled, however he chooses to leave them on in the hopes that their disheveled and uncaring implications would embarrass Hannibal in return if they resolve to venture out into public.</p><p>As if sensing Will’s begrudging thoughts, Hannibal twists his long torso around, beckoning for Will to join him. Will shuffles into the living area, sliding into the seat opposite Hannibal and picking at a bowl of fruit in the middle of the table. Hannibal folds the laptop screen down halfway, selecting a cluster of deep purple grapes from the dish of fruit. </p><p>“I will assume that you have already surmised that Chiyoh played a large part in our survival after our clifftop descent.”</p><p>Will nods slowly, his mindset switching into a clinical mode as he deciphers the nature of the following conversation. It had definitely crossed his mind that Chiyoh’s hands were bone deep in their initial recovery, due to the impossibility of their endurance once slamming into the rock hard surface of the ocean. He had not however been entirely sure. Despite this grand gesture, Will can’t help a small hint of resentment from flickering across his face. He isn’t sure what to make of Chiyoh, so dangerously loyal to Hannibal alone and yet so steadfast in her own chaotic whims. Hannibal, unsurprisingly, seems almost to read the very lines of Will’s thought processes, his eyes flicking steadily back and forth across the story of Will’s expressions. </p><p>“Try not to hold too many grievances against Chiyoh, Will. She was the one to call an ambulance, allowing for your safe delivery to hospital, before aiding me in acquiring a less public form of care.”</p><p>Will masks the surprise that rises within him at the statement. He’d always assumed Hannibal had arranged for his transport to the emergency room and was skeptical that Chiyoh herself had personally gone to the trouble. Though after consideration on Will’s part, she was likely acting as an extension of Hannibal's own desire, as everyone the manipulative man comes across finds themselves doing. </p><p>“Why didn’t she take us together? Jack had no way of knowing my true intentions that night; I could have easily and <em>correctly</em> been found to play just as great a part in The Dragons death as you, in which case he would have had no choice but to lock me up.”</p><p>Hannibal hadn’t ever seemed to have much problem hurling and releasing Will from various imprisonments in the past, Will’s own control as superfluous and man’s rein over the tides.<br/>
Still, Will thinks that Hannibal's calm manner flinches fractionally, perhaps at the idea of Will thrown yet again behind bars, yet he may just have been imagining it - wishful thinking. </p><p>“It was a risk - applying energy into obtaining a less exposed yet unfortunately less immediate form of treatment. A risk that I was willing to take for myself, however not one that I was willing to impart upon you. Even despite the potential consequences on your end.”</p><p>Hannibal pauses for a moment, as if contemplating past decisions before continuing,</p><p>“And the risk that I took for myself has indeed resulted in consequences, consequences that I have flown all the way to Belgium to settle.”</p><p>“<em>We</em> have flown,” Will corrects, earning him a sharp glare from Hannibal. Evidently, Hannibal is reluctant to drag Will too deeply into his pursuits, though Will had expected this. He shrugs by way of an apology at the further interruption and indicates for Hannibal to continue.</p><p>“I received treatment from a small, anonymous organization comprising a number of radical individuals sharing my tendency for the unorthodox when it comes to medicine.”</p><p>“This is an illegal organization.”</p><p>Will’s interjection is more of a statement than an actual question. </p><p>“Obviously. These individuals are financed by a hugely wealthy employer, who in turn is paid an enormous amount of money by persons such as myself.”</p><p>“Those persons being…”</p><p>“For the most part they are individuals that, for some reason or another, have sustained alarming injury and are extremely unwilling to alert any higher authority as to their situation or even, as in my case, their existence.”</p><p>“I see.” </p><p>I fact, as a former FBI employee Will has a rather difficult time accepting that such organizations are allowed to exist and thrive right under the nose of entire countries, however these first instincts of dismay are ones that will likely have to be cast aside if he is to immerse himself in Hannibal's world. </p><p>“And so how is it that you are still involved with them now, after your recovery?”</p><p>Hannibal almost sighs, as if his tangled involvement with some underground mafia was little more than a trivial yet rather annoying fly, buzzing allusively between their conversation. In fact Will believes Hannibal would actually be more upset by the fly, as undignified as it’s presence would seem. At least his current issues sound worthy of his almighty attention. </p><p>“Unfortunately they have demanded that Chiyoh pay a fee on top of my own, given her involvement in obtaining their services. This is a grievous act of a man - self-proclaimed Lucius, the leader of this organization - who hasn’t yet realized that his assumed superiority is not as set in stone as he believes.”</p><p>Will frowns at the politics involved, guessing that the reason such businesses haven’t become more notorious is the eternal power plays and coups that keep them too unstable to thrive in anything other than a highly guarded capacity. He is however curious as to why Hannibal has chosen to involve himself in such internal power plays.</p><p>“Can’t you afford to simply pay Chiyoh’s fee? I’m almost positive that no matter how steep, the cost wouldn’t even dent your seemingly endless assets.”</p><p>“Unfortunately I am not willing to do so.”</p><p>“Unfortunately for us or Lucius?”</p><p>Hannibal looks pleased at Will’s ability to so easily detect the menace behind the niceties of his words. </p><p>“For Lucius. It would be an embarrassment to both Chiyoh and myself, which is ultimately what this man is seeking by posing such unreasonable demands, becoming so drunk in his own position that he has lost sight of who puts him there. I am going to remind him.”</p><p>“That is rather almighty of you.” </p><p>Hannibal cocks his head in a twitch of supremacy. </p><p>“Indeed.”</p><p>After a pause, Hannibal shuts his laptop completely, standing from the table and striding over the other side of the room to remove his coat from a small closet. He shrugs it over his shoulders, meeting Will’s questioning look from across the room. </p><p>“I need to make some arrangements, I will likely be gone for the better part of the day. I regret leaving you to your own devices within our first few hours here together, however I would have these tasks resolved sooner rather than later.”</p><p>“What arrangements?”</p><p>“Nothing to warrant concern.”</p><p>He hesitates at the intense glare of annoyance cast from Will’s spot at the table before resigning, as if it was his intention all along to elaborate. </p><p>“Before our visit to Belgium has concluded, I will have liked to settle this disagreement with Lucius. Today I will initiate some cautionary support systems ensuring that the encounter goes smoothly.”</p><p>Hannibal's description is all very vague and unassuming, leaving Will the flexibility to guess at all sorts of mysterious explanations, though each guess a vague stab at the dark. </p><p>“Can’t I come with you?”</p><p>Hannibals crosses the room again, picking the keys up from their resting place upon the table and heading towards the door with the long, determined strides of his. </p><p>“I am afraid not.”</p><p>Just before departing, Hannibal twists around, regarding the still seated and rather flummoxed Will from the doorway. </p><p>“Tonight however, I would be pleased if you would accompany me to the symphony. I have an acquaintance in Bruges who finds himself indebted to me and has been able to secure two tickets on short notice, as I am unsure as to how long we will be remaining in the city.”</p><p>The unexpected invitation catches Will off-guard. His brain hurriedly tries to untangle the messages flying his way - both of quick dejection and yet unabashed requests of company. He directs his gaze towards the bowl of fruit as if undeterred by the sudden request, trying to exude an air of nonchalance. </p><p>“OK.”</p><p>Will catches Hannibal’s single crisp nods from the corner of his eye.</p><p>“Thank you. I expect to return by 7:30 at the latest, we will leave shortly afterwards.”</p><p>With that, Hannibal pulls the door closed with a soft click, disappearing somewhere into the mass of Bruges.</p><p>After a few tense seconds Will allows his attention to fall from the uninteresting bowl of fruit, casting a puzzling look instead towards the closed door. He’d thought Hannibal was opening up again, his person suit left behind for the most part back in the misty forests and towering turrets of Lecter castle, and yet the man had wasted no time in sewing it back up again. </p><p>Will feels desolate. The sensation of a life within his reach, yet also moving in slow motion into the distance is becoming all too familiar. It crosses Will’s mind that his relationship with Hannibal is destined to only ever be one of mystery - exhilarating in the times when they had been separated by both literal and figurative barricades, however stripped of it’s colour now that they have the opportunity to fully intertwine their lives. Perhaps Hannibal sees this, and perhaps that’s why he is pulling back, trying to maintain the vibrancy despite it slowly slipping from between his fingers. The concept doesn’t sit right with Will however. He’d been so sure in the moments after his becoming, as The Great Red Dragon lay bleeding out in the courtyard, that he’d discovered in Hannibal a savage yet vivid inevitability. </p><p>He stands, unable to remain still as the frustrations of his mind threaten to overflow. Instead he paces through the room, his hands twitching at his sides. Hannibal has already unpacked all of their suitcases - how he finds time to actually sleep escapes Will. A pile of books sits neatly stacked atop the dining room table, along with Hannibal’s writing pad, pencils, a scalpel and his now discarded computer. Back in the bedroom the grand double-door wardrobe contains all of their clothes, Will’s on the right side and Hannibal’s on the left. How is it that they literally share a closet, and yet can’t find it in themselves to sustain their once so natural philosophical dialogue? </p><p>Their suite consists of four rooms, the bedroom which Will is already acquainted with, a cream-tiled bathroom containing both a large shower <em>and</em> a jacuzzi, a kitchen boasting marble benches, cupboards and a ceramic stove top, and finally the lounge-dining area. Each room gives no hint of modesty, all of them screaming towards Will that he is becoming far too idle in allowing Hannibal to spend so frivolously. </p><p>The living room also adjoins a spiraling balcony, looking out at the pristine baroque-styled architecture of Bruges. Will secures the glass balcony doors wide open, desperately in need of fresh air, and leans against one door frame with his arms folded securely across his chest, fixating upon the heavy rhythm of his chest as he inhales. He stares out upon the view, bright buildings and bustling streets, willing it to explain to him what he’s doing wrong. </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>The grandfather clock near the suite’s doorway indicates that Hannibal is due back in approximately half an hour. As the day dragged onward, Will had found the anxious coil in his stomach tightening. While Hannibal hadn’t directly admitted to his whereabouts, Will had received the impression that he wouldn’t be negotiating uncomplicated situations. He realizes that worrying for Hannibal's safety is both redundant and downright immoral, yet as the clock consistently ticks the worry doesn’t subside - uselessly, considering that the shifty man hadn’t even intended to have returned by now. </p><p>Will had considered leaving the hotel and wandering the streets below, but instead resigned to sinking into the couch and flipping through Hannibal's pile of literature, feeling too reserved and deflated to venture out into the public eye. He’d actually found himself engrossed with the reading however, a few hours slipping past unnoticed, particularly after breaking open a bottle of Scotch left sitting unattended by Hannibal in the fridge - first feeling a twinge of guilt at snapping the seal without asking, and then deciding that he didn’t actually care. </p><p>Towards the later half of the day however, he starts to fret about their engagement that evening, unsure both how to dress and then what to expect from the upper-class event, having never attended anything similar himself. After agonizing over the contents of his wardrobe - which in recent times he’s found himself doing bothering frequently - he snatches spitefully at a deep green dress shirt and fitting black slacks, finding that he doesn’t really care if they clash with the unknown dress code. He disappears into the shower, opting to wash off the layers of airport, taxi and sleep that have collected over the last few hours. </p><p>He lingers under the stream of water for longer than he usually allows. Almost without thinking, he dials the handle of the shower back until the water runs freezing, cold enough that the droplets sting against his skin before the tissue eventually becomes numb to them. He squeezes his eyes closed, imagining the glacial chill of the Atlantic growing ever darker as he sinks beneath the surface, still held tightly within a solid embrace - when things had finally clicked into place, and before they unclicked. </p><p>When he finally exits the bathroom, fully clothed with his hair combed back, he startles at finding Hannibal sitting on the living room sofa, already dressed to the nines. He sits with his endless legs crossed, balancing his notepad on one knee and calmly sketching. Will stands mesmerized just out of sight and yet where he can follow the rhythmic movements of Hannibal's hand gliding across paper, not quite able to discern the drawing. The prominent veins in Hannibal’s hands almost make it appear as if he has small vines creeping across his skin in the shadows. It makes his raw strength almost sylphlike. As Will enters, the older man closes the notepad, setting it aside on the edge of the coffee table.  </p><p>“Good evening Will. I am glad to find you still here and in one piece - I half expected to return to find that you had wandered off into an unfamiliar landscape.”</p><p>“Quite frankly I’m surprised that you didn’t lock me in.” Will frowns at the thought, “which you actually might have - I didn’t check.”</p><p>Will feels a surge of triumph as Hannibal’s chest contorts in a humored huff. </p><p>“Rest assured that I would never. As much as the notion tempts me, you are a beast that when caged simply thrashes harder to fly free.”</p><p>“I’m sure you still have me on a leash, despite it being a long one.”</p><p>Hannibal stands, raising an eyebrow at Will.</p><p>“Maybe.”</p><p>He extends his arm towards Will, handing him a dark overcoat. The garment is lined with a fabric that feels close to velvet, and once on it falls just above his knees.<br/>
He’s about to thank his relentless benefactor, however Hannibal speaks first, opening the door to the hall to allow Will to exit. </p><p>“We will arrive just on time if we leave now.”</p><p>Will steps hesitantly through the doorway, still very much doubting his previous decision to accompany Hannibal. He scrounges through his mind for some desperate delay, though what he finds is pitiful at best.</p><p>“You don’t need a shower or anything?”</p><p>Hannibal hums in amusement, seeing through Will’s facade immediately and ignoring it, instead herding  him down to the hotel foyer. </p><p>“I have already done so.”</p><p>Will glowers incredulously.</p><p>“How so?”</p><p>“I have paid for two en-suites, our current residence and the adjoining one, in case you found yourself needing some space. I am aware that up until now, and excluding the short few years of your marriage, you have led a predominantly solitary lifestyle. I have not wanted you to feel ‘overcrowded’. Hence, I showered in the other room.”</p><p>Will doesn’t miss the subtle twitch of Hannibal's nose as he mentions Will’s marriage. Strangely, it hadn’t even crossed Will’s mind to seek out any space of his own, and he finds himself wondering why, as Hannibal’s logic is an assumption that Will himself would have made if their roles had been reversed. </p><p>“Thank you Hannibal. That’s unexpectedly thoughtful.”</p><p>Hannibal spends the car ride patiently explaining the symphony story-line to Will. Apparently the music, which is accompanied by an infamous soprano of a name Will has never heard of, will tell the story of Manon Lescaut. The tale is usually told in an operatic form, however has been transcribed for an orchestra. Hannibal describes the narrative of ill-fated passion, a tragic love story between a young woman unsure of her true desires until too late, and her lover who is both overwhelmed and enthralled despite her initial restlessness. Hannibal describes the plot in a hushed, enamored tone, as if already witnessing the production within the confines of his mind palace.  </p><p>Upon their arrival at the Royal City Theater, Hannibal guides Will through the mingling crowd, all dressed in tight, slinky gowns and dapper suits. By now Will is growing used to the awe-inspiring architecture that Hannibal tends to gravitate towards, and thus finds himself unfazed at the impressive building. This newfound sense of ease however is countered by the ostentatious looking crowds which leave him gravitating closer towards Hannibal’s side. His intimidation only grows at the sheer multitude of heads that swivel round upon their entrance, all of them fixating upon Hannibal's graceful stately figure like vultures, however is oblivious to the many eyes scrutinizing his own alluring physique. </p><p>Will releases a pained breath once they finally reach their seats, not even slightly upset that Hannibal has likely paid a substantial amount for their own private box, far up above the packed rows of seats closer to the stage. Once seated, Hannibal leans in towards Will, his voice deliberately taking on a softly pacifying rumble. </p><p>“Try to calm yourself. I wish for you to enjoy this, do not let the hordes of grandiose individuals impede upon the experience. Once the lights go down it is only you and myself, sitting together amidst the chorus.”</p><p>And then the lights do go down, and Will submerges himself into the fantasy, allowing the music to run over him. At some point he glances over at Hannibal to find him utterly caught up in the story unfolding before them. To any other observer, the older man would simply appear as another sullen spectator, and yet Will can distinguish the raging reverence dancing behind the unveiled maroon eyes. These are the eyes that used to grapple with him from across the psychiatrist's office, and the eyes that pleaded with him under the moon where mingling blood shone blackly. </p><p>And Will finds that he not only empathizes, but understands. Sitting here, surrounded so fully by fiery music and sorrowfully sung narrative, he feels engulfed by the all-encompassing uproar. The theater is so dark that all Will can discern visually is Hannibal seated beside him, and the far-off golden lights of the orchestra-pit, which seems a world away and yet surrounds him with a sea of music. The melodies pierce his eardrums, threatening to cast aside all thoughts of past and future, allowing him to simply experience the present. Eventually his hand finds itself slipping into Hannibal's, the two men becoming a single formidable entity as he allows Hannibal’s own enamored passion to wash over him. </p><p>Will finds himself painfully disorientated as the curtains are drawn and the lights blink awake at half time, not sure how to react until Hannibal’s hand withdraws from under his grasp. Will raises his gaze to regard the man now standing above him, Hannibal’s eyes still burning with their once-familiar vehemence. </p><p>“If we hurry we can make a quick escape before the crowds gather once again.”</p><p>Immediately alert, Will rises and hurries along beside Hannibal, who leads the pair back through the foyer and into the chilling night outside. He’s aware that Hannibal would far rather be mingling with the other pompous audience members, sipping an expensive wine and probably cruelly flirting the night away. He is standing outside in the cold for Will, and the younger man finds himself intensely grateful. The sky is far clearer than Will ever remembers it being in America, silver pinpricks of light shimmering within the blackness.</p><p>The theater's arching entrance opens back out onto a wide marble courtyard with a sculpted fountain in the middle, the centerpiece depicting a writhing serpent spouting water from between it’s two great jaws. The courtyard also boasts an imposing steepled clock-tower at it’s far end, which had echoed out a deep chain of chimes as they’d entered the theater earlier. Will follows Hannibal's lead, strolling around the courtyard's outskirts.<br/>
He allows a silence to endure before finally daring himself to break it, wanting to convey to Hannibal the importance of the night until this point. </p><p>“That was so beautiful Hannibal.”</p><p>It is a simple statement and yet injected with all his truthful reverence. From the corner of his eye, Will can make out a faint smile curving across Hannibal’s face, realizing that the older man may have been more nervous than he let on about whether or not Will had enjoyed the entertainment. </p><p>“I am thrilled that you have connected with the experience as much as I find myself doing. It is an elusive art form to those who cannot truly tether themselves to it, and yet once one has done so the orchestra opens up a perspective that sheds light on so many other beautiful things in this world.”</p><p>Will hums in reply, allowing the appraisal to wind its way into his skull. This is a fraction of Hannibal's soul, the chaos and nuances of artistry and intellect that excite his curious mind. </p><p>“You come alive here Hannibal. I wish that I could find for you further experiences that equally draw you up to your past self again.”</p><p>The ghost of the smile still left lingering against Hannibal’s lip ebbs away, replaced by a small frown and the subtle questioning tilt of his head. </p><p>“What do you mean by that Will?”</p><p>“You’ve become more reserved than you used to be. I thought initially that it was just the effects of returning to Lithuania, and that you’d bounce back again after leaving, but you haven’t fully. I understand the change after so long an imprisonment, left alone with your dangerous thoughts. I wish that I could give you something back.”</p><p>Hannibal ceases walking, and when Will turns to look at him under the grandeur of the bell-tower, the deep maroon eyes are gazing across at him with an expression of desolate fascination. </p><p>“I am exhilarated to possess your company in any capacity Will.”</p><p>Will’s brow furrows as he wonders where Hannibal is directing conversation. The older man hesitates, clearly reluctant to deliver his ensuing words.</p><p>“...and yet, I find myself unexpectedly subdued in not knowing where exactly it is that we stand.”  </p><p>Oh. Will isn’t exactly sure what explanation he was looking for, perhaps an admission of loss after reminiscing over the past, or even of boredom at this newfound life together, and yet blindly he hadn’t expected this. </p><p>“Do we have to know exactly?”</p><p>Hannibal’s head quirks upwards, his chin tilting in defiance as he considers the question. Despite the blanket of defiance his manner is gentle, subdued by what he perceives as his shortcomings. </p><p>“No, I will not ask that of you, nor will I entirely ask it of myself. And yet I find that without clear cut lines my mind exists within a perpetual state of musing, which has acted as a dampener on my mood in a way that I hadn’t previously anticipated or experienced.”</p><p>“Our relationships has never been clear cut lines.”</p><p>It has been cold calculated lies and tumultuous advances, a dangerous lonely courtship of violence and longing. </p><p>“No, it hasn’t.”</p><p>Will chest tightens as the question that he really wants to ask threatens to spill from between his lips. The be all and end all. </p><p>“Where do you <em>want</em> us to stand Hannibal?”</p><p>Hannibal’s entire expression almost flinches, the last dregs of resistance simultaneously slipping away and yet hardening his shield of self-preservation. </p><p>“Alongside one another Will, wherever that may be.”</p><p>Will feels the flooding relief almost like a shock wave, rushing through him with a crippling intensity, all his pent up doubt dissipating. He desperately wants to meet Hannibal's lapse into calm vulnerability with some of his own, and yet can’t find the right words within the triumphant muddle of his mind. </p><p>So instead he closes the small distance between them raising slightly on his toes as he allows his lips to hover shyly, inches away from Hannibal’s own.</p><p>The hitch of Hannibal’s rhythmic breathing is too hidden to hear, yet Will can feel the slight, sharp inhalation in the space between their lips, before he closes the small distance separating them. The kiss is slow and tentative, both men processing the unexpected onslaught of emotion. The soft tissue of Hannibal’s lips gives way under Will’s own, contrasting with a gentle tug as Will’s rough unshaven whiskers scrape against Hannibal’s clean-shaven skin. Will’s mind is buzzing with static as every nerve lights up, pulsing warmth spreading throughout his entire body despite the bite of frosty air. </p><p>Both of Hannibal's hands rise to slide through his hair, slender fingers entwining themselves into Will’s curls before tugging his head back, deepening the kiss. His tongue glides along Will's full lower lip, and Will finds himself unable to do anything but grip onto the taller man's steady shoulders and gently moan as Hannibal presses the tongue between Will’s parting lips. </p><p>It’s Hannibal that eventually pulls away, panting lightly and locking eyes with Will, his gaze now bearing overflowing devotion. </p><p>“Will, Širdelė… you have no idea.”</p><p>His voice has turned low and husky, the whisper almost a growl. He simply stares at Will for a few tortured moments, before placing his palm against the hollow curves of Will’s cheek and pulling him up once again, this time their lips meeting with all the forces of unrelenting urgency. </p><p>This kiss is intoxicating fire, teeth clicking against each other and tongues wrestling for dominance until the two men are struggling to regain oxygen, panting into the small space between them yet unwilling to break apart.<br/>
This has been so long anticipated, and Will finds himself both overcome by anguish at the wasted time behind them and yet euphoric at the moment finally being reached.</p><p>The kiss casts them into their own pocket of frozen time, until Will bites down into Hannibal’s lower lip, drawing blood and eliciting a throaty growl from the other man. Hannibal pulls away, capturing Will’s hand within his own and pulling him back across the courtyard. Will laughter rings like low bells into the still air, startled by Hannibal's sudden change of direction. </p><p>“Hannibal?”</p><p>The older man doesn’t turn around, striding with both his normal fluid grace and yet new determined purpose so that Will almost has to skip a few steps to keep up. He calls out over his shoulder, voice still rough - almost guttural in its hunger.</p><p>“We are returning to the hotel.”</p><p>“What about the symphony?”</p><p>Will thinks he can almost discern Hannibal chuckling in front of him, which only adds to the impossibly building euphoria coursing through his whole nervous system.</p><p>“I do not believe that I would be able to remain still. It is a sacrifice that I am willing to make.”</p><p>Once reaching the road, Hannibal raises one hand, the other still enveloping Will’s within a vice grip. He manages to hail a taxi almost immediately, as if his exuding charisma could penetrate even the solid metal framework of the fast moving vehicle. Will doesn’t hear the exchange between Hannibal and the cab-driver, nor register as the car rumbles to life and slips between the busy lines of traffic. He is too high on adrenaline - both excited and terrified at Hannibal's intensity, the raging inferno that Will had been aware of laying just beneath the surface, and still had knowingly dragged into the open. And yet he finds a bubbling inferno inside of him also, even matching that of the man beside him, so that when the taxi finally pulls up alongside the entrance of their hotel, both men are equally intent on closing the long distance to their suite. </p><p>Will passes through the doorway first, turning just in time to find Hannibal pushing it closed behind them with a sharp thunk. A small drop of blood beads upon his lip from where Will’s incisors had sunk into the delicate flesh. Hannibal’s tongue darts out to brush the crimson drop away in a subtle motion that anyone else might consider unconscious. Will however knows the devious man well enough to realize that every insignificant action is cleverly timed, yet heat still pools within the depths of his belly regardless. </p><p>It only takes a second for the spark of desire to run through his body before the distance between the two men is breached again, their bodies crashing together, stumbling haphazardly towards the bedroom as their two coats fall into puddles on the ground at some point amidst the journey. Will can’t recall within the fog of his sizzling mind ever feeling such urgency before, the current between them almost tangible sparks of electricity, years of pent up desire all crashing together. </p><p>Upon reaching the bedroom Will begins to fumble with the buttons of Hannibal's collar, the faint alarm bells in his mind only sounding once Hannibal reciprocates the action, though admittedly his fingers dance far more smoothly down the small clasps than Will’s do.<br/>
Will has never done this with any other man before. He focuses on pushing the doubts aside, finding that despite their history, despite his better judgments, in this moment he wholly trusts the man before him. He trusts the indestructible reverence mirrored back at him through eyes blown with desire, only rimmed by slivered discs of maroon. He trusts the firm hand that runs down his chest, the light kiss that Hannibal draws from his hesitant lips. </p><p>“Do not worry mylimasis, I will take care of you.”</p><p>And Will wants him to. He pushes Hannibal's shirt from around his shoulders, allowing it to drop to the floor with a muffled thud. Will marvels at the faultless musculature of his arms and chiseled stomach, the blatant masculinity of his physique flooding, heightening his senses. Hannibal tugs Will’s own shirt more roughly from over his shoulders, pulling Will towards him and capturing the younger man's lips with his own, dragging his pointed teeth along Will’s lower lip with an almost menacing desire. The tight strain within Will’s pants is becoming unbearably distracting, only worsening as Hannibal pulls away. The older man pushes Will down amidst the bed sheets, following soon after, his arms framing the debauched young man before him. He bends down, holding his own body almost agonizingly just above Will’s own, ghosting only his lips against Will’s for the fraction of a second before sliding downwards.</p><p>Will can’t hold back the ragged gasp that escapes his throat as Hannibal’s palm brushes against the sensitive bulge within his trousers. Will ducks his head back as his cheeks flood with colour, unable to watch as Hannibal undoes his belt and slides everything down, tossing the heavy fabrics aside onto the floor. Will feels obscenely vulnerable lying amidst the covers, splayed out helplessly before Hannibal. Hannibal's hands dig deep into the flesh of his hips as he nuzzles down into Will’s heat, eliciting an equally embarrassed and blissful moan.<br/>
The lilting voice rumbles up from below him, hands sliding along the sides of Will’s slender hips. </p><p>“Don’t look away mylimasis, look at me. You are so beautiful Will, incandescent. Let me see you.”</p><p>Will hesitantly tips his gaze forward to meet Hannibal’s, his chest clenching at the sight of the man below him. The dark eyes betray nothing but utter adoration - an adoration that would have frightened Will before, yet now only send further sparks of light cascading down his spine. Hannibal smiles, the sharp edges of his canines peeking through, before ducking his head. His tongue flicks out to drag along the underside of Will’s pulsing cock, the younger man's shameless whimper splitting the air. This time when Will throws his head back, it’s not out of self-consciousness but pure lust. </p><p>Hannibal's hot tongue makes long wet strokes across the aching length before flicking across the head, lapping at beads of pre-come. Before Will can fully adjust to the all-consuming sensation, Hannibal takes the entirety of Will’s member into his mouth, sucking tightly as Will emits a high pitched, visceral cry.<br/>
Will arches up into the silky heat of Hannibal’s mouth, glancing down to find wide devoted eyes staring up at him, the older man's cheeks hollowing as he repeatedly swallows down Will’s length. Within the depths of Will’s lust-glazed mind, shock at his lack of dismay grazes his consciousness - the seemingly inescapable morality that feigns aghast at his ability to take pleasure from the ministrations of his companion. And yet the voice of conscience is insignificant compared to the all-encompassing sense that this is right - the lightning igniting his senses and the pure lust thrumming within the room. </p><p>When Hannibal’s throat hums with the vibrations of a deep sigh Will feels the coil begin to tighten within his groin, his body tensing up and his breaths coming in loud desperate pants. And yet this isn’t how he wants the night to finish, not yet and not like this. He twists a hand around Hannibal's neck and into his silver-streaked silken hair, tugging slightly so that Hannibal pulls away with an obscene pop, his brow furrowing in confusion.</p><p>“Please Hannibal.”</p><p>Will stammers only the two words, his courage still slightly too reserved to ask for more, and yet the simple plea not doing anything to smooth out the question in Hannibal’s swollen lips. </p><p>“Tell me mano meile, what is it that you need.”</p><p>Will grits his teeth, the abrupt absence of stimulation causing him to grind his hips down against the bed in some attempt at release, to no avail. He hadn’t been expecting this roaring desire to reach for more the first time, and by the almost distressed glint flickering across the other man’s face, neither did Hannibal. And yet Will feels all too ready for this, heedless in his need to fully connect. </p><p>“I need you inside me.”</p><p>Will himself is surprised at the definitive imploring of his words, a surprise that he finds mirrored back at him in Hannibal's expression. The man below him presses a chaste kiss against the muscled skin of Will’s abdomen, raising his eyes to regard Will beneath long lashes. </p><p>“Are you sure mylimasis?”</p><p>Will’s response is absolute.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Hannibal doesn’t need any further affirmation, his long hands running their way across Will’s torso before flipping him over onto his stomach, digging his strong fingers into Will’s thighs to pull them sharply back until his knees are bent. Desire streaks through Will as Hannibal's long rough tongue presses down immediately against his rim. The older man reaches a hand around to stroke Will’s cock, the simultaneous stimulation almost sending Will undone for the briefest of moments before Hannibal removes his hand. His flicking tongue is soon joined by the pads of two come-slicked fingers, pressing slow circles around the tender skin, until one long digit pushes languidly inside to the knuckle. Will sucks in a sharp breath, a stream of curses suddenly flooding out from between clenched teeth.</p><p>“OH. Fuck Hannibal. Oh my god.”</p><p>The feeling is new, initially inflicting an aching soreness, yet not the streaking pain that Will had expected. After a few moments of tense adjustment, he instead feels a full sensation that sends tremors up his now dripping cock. His head drops down between trembling arms, every limb heavy with desire. After a few short minutes of deep teasing strokes broken by Will's gasps, Hannibal pushes another slender digit deep inside him, twisting the fingers expertly to brush against Will’s prostate. Sharp tremors dart through the young man, a whine bleeding out from between his full lips. </p><p>“Holy fuck Hannibal, please.” </p><p>Despite his plea Will can’t help but groan again at the loss of contact as Hannibal obligingly withdraws both his two fingers and the wet tongue lapping around Will’s loosened rim. Will’s hips thrust pointlessly against thin air, and he turns his head to find Hannibal’s determined eyes fixated upon him, flaming dark orbs. The older man pulls Will’s hips towards him, before flipping him again roughly onto his back. </p><p>“Let me see you.”</p><p>Hannibal's voice is enraptured, his accent thickened and curling as his control unravels. He unfastens his belt, viciously pushing away his slacks and briefs and kicking them impatiently onto the floor. Hannibal's thick cock glistens in the half light with his own abundant pre-come, which he draws down his length with a tight hand, sucking in a moan at the long awaited friction. Watching him, Will can’t help his own arousal from spiking, wanting despairingly to reach down and stroke his own pulsing member, yet held back by the possessive glint in Hannibal’s eyes - <em>mine</em>.</p><p>Finally, Hannibal reaches out towards Will, wrenching his thighs apart and positioning himself between them. Gone are the gentle, hesitant caresses, replaced instead by Hannibal's burning, raging passion.<br/>
The anticipating building inside Will reaches an almost painful level as he feels the hot head of Hannibal's cock brushing against his loosened rim.<br/>
And then Hannibal pushes into Will in one long thrust, burying his cock deep into the younger man's body. Hannibal throws his head back, a carnal snarl ripping deep from within his throat as he loses control. Will himself gasps at the sensation of the engorged, throbbing member driving into him, stretching against his inner walls, and then releases a small whine at the empty sensation as Hannibal pulls out almost immediately, only to thrust back in again - harder. The sound of sweat slicked flesh colliding rings within the room as Hannibal mercilessly pounds into the lithe body beneath him, digging his hands around Will’s muscled thighs so as to drive himself further into the tight heat. </p><p>As the fateful coil once again pulls tight within the pit of Will’s belly Hannibal leans down, his rapid pace slowing slightly as he captures Will’s parted lips with his own, claiming Will’s mouth with his tongue before pulling away again.</p><p>“You enthrall me mano meile, I have no desire in my life without you to ignite it, no beauty without you to inspire it. You are everything.”</p><p>Hannibal arches his back as he rises, his hands once more digging into Will’s hips as the young man thrusts up to meet Hannibal's ruthless pace. He resembles a god, his bronzed skin shimmering with sweat, the shadows only accentuating the depth of his rippling muscles. Every sharp movement and shallow breath betraying his raw, unrivaled power. At this moment, Will doesn’t feel like himself anymore. Instead, he perceives his identity as an amalgamation of his own and the man above him, both consciousnesses mingling into a single impassioned entity, and he decides that this is how he has always meant to exist. Terrified, fascinated, enamored, with this man.<br/>
Without so much as a slight hesitance, Hannibal’s snapping hips twist slightly so that his long cock drives into Will’s prostate, and the younger man's mind blanking as pure pleasure threatens to undo him, everything else dissipating into the foreground.</p><p>And then Will finds himself tipping over the edge, his heels digging into Hannibal's back and his hands twisting within the satin sheets as waves of ecasity wash over him in an unrelenting tsunami. Somewhere within the depths of his consciousness he registers the moment a few milliseconds after him as Hannibal thrusts once more into Will’s clenching heat before falling after him over the precipice, his eyes devouring the writhing man below him and a desperate hiss escaping his lips. </p><p>It feels like forever before Will falls back down into the realm of normality, his high stretching out over an insurmountable amount of time. His clenched eyes flick open to find the man above him just sinking down also, Hannibal’s eyes flickering closed only as the final edges of his climax slip away. The older man pulls reluctantly out, the hollow feeling initially disorientating Will as he becomes once again an individual consciousness. Hannibal slides his body down the bed frame to shield himself over Will, resting his forehead against that of the man beneath him, releasing a gravelly sigh as he does so. Will finds himself unable to move, too captivated by the bronzed strength of the weight above him, ironically feeling better protected than he had since his early youth, when he was more or less blissfully ignorant of the reality of the world.</p><p>“Baimė ir meilė nesutampa.”</p><p>Hannibal’s sultry murmur draws will out from within the spirals of his mind and into the moment. He’s not sure if Hannibal even wants him to respond, and yet a small frustrated spark in his mind doesn’t want to sever the connection with the man above him, even through such trivial barriers as language. His eyes linger amidst Hannibal's own hooded ones hovering only a few inches away. </p><p>“Hannibal?”</p><p>Hannibal lifts his forehead from where it still rests against Will’s own, agility transferring his weight from above Will to beside him, both men mirroring each other as they lie upon their backs and turn their heads in order to maintain eye contact. </p><p>“A Lithuanian proverb that suggests‘ <em>fear and love do not go together</em>.”</p><p>Will frowns, his own experiences threatened to be tagged a feigned superficiality by the precept. When he speaks his own voice is rough and torn.</p><p>“I don’t agree.”</p><p>Hannibal’s lip quirks into a satisfied smirk, his eyes twinkling with the partially hidden mirth that used to be ever present within those first few years.</p><p>“Nor do I. Fear and love are so beautifully intertwined, fear in the presence of our partner’s divinity, fear because we love. Fear that without our love we would become lost, the fear that ignites the fires of the endless fight to keep our loved ones close.”</p><p>Will considers the words, considers the comparison that the older man has omitted, certainly not for lack of recognition. Will decides to fill in the gaps himself, giving in to Hannibal’s unspoken goading. </p><p>“Fear of your loved one, of who they are, of who you will become with them. Fear that you won’t have the strength to embrace the product of that becoming.” </p><p>A satisfied rumble sounds from the depths of Hannibal’s chest.</p><p>“It would be ignorant not to carry a torch of fear for such an impassioned emotion.”</p><p>Hannibal reaches out a long sinewy arm in order to tangle his fingers lightly within Will’s mussed hair, the action less sweetly relaxed as any other couple would participate in, and more subtly possessive. </p><p>“Do you fear me Will?”</p><p>Will pictures the calculated beast burying his teeth into the flesh of the Dragon's throat, the darkly menacing assassin snapping the necks of his attackers only a few nights before, the golden rippling entity driving into him only seconds ago. The peace and the security that these dimensions of Hannibal inspire within him, among many other contrasting emotions. </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Hannibal doesn’t ask the successive question, <em>Do you love me Will?</em>, and so Will doesn’t attempt to answer it. </p><p>Will feels bewildered by the ease of Hannibal’s presence now - the first true ease since their reunification in Lithuania. Looking at Hannibal now, seeing the open invitation that used to be so accessible to Will when he wasn’t yet ready to grasp it, he finally finds clarity in the man’s mysteriously allusive attitude.</p><p>“You have been holding back Hannibal, protecting yourself from me, from my hesitance. Are you afraid of me?”</p><p>“You so easily have the power to break me mano meile, more so than you realize. Of course I am afraid of you.”</p><p>Will feels a flare of anger, only just bright enough to assert itself in his expression, twisting slightly at the corners of his eyes. </p><p>“I’m here Hannibal, I’ve sacrificed everything that I was because of you. You knew you had me, why didn’t you let me see you.”</p><p>Frustratingly, Hannibal doesn’t meet Will burst of vexation with any of his own, instead shifting his body weight in order to press his lips against Will’s, all the resentment flooding away at the sudden show of affection.</p><p>“You needed to arrive at your level of investment in this relationship by yourself Will, I could not allow my inner desires to influence that.”</p><p>As much as Will still clings to his independence from Hannibal, he cannot deny that the older man's extraordinary and roaring emotions tend to mingle with his own. Yet Hannibal’s sentiment touches him, as the truth underlying his words admits that Hannibal’s true motivations are no longer to manipulate Will - he doesn’t want a well crafted reflection of Wills emotions, he wants them unbridled.</p><p>“Didn’t you influence me by asking where we stood?”</p><p>Hannibal smiles slightly and sighs. </p><p>“I did not ask that question.”</p><p>“Indirectly you did.”</p><p>The older man hums an affirmation, his accent somehow tinting even the small, musing exhalation.</p><p>“In Lithuania, and even here for a short time, despite your reassurances to the contrary you were still not yet certain whether you could find it in yourself to remain with me. It was then that my own aspirations could have driven you to make a decision that you could not sustain. Tonight however, you were sure.”</p><p>“When did I become sure?”</p><p>Will already knows the answer to this question. He doesn’t know exactly why he wants Hannibal to say it, he just does.</p><p>“Amidst the overflowing darkness, in the thick of the gleaming aria and the harrowing cello, when you touched my arm. That is when you made your decision to stay.”</p><p>“You said back in Lithuania that you couldn’t find it in yourself to let me go again. What would have happened if I had made a different decision?”</p><p>“I do not wholly know. Let us be glad that you made the one that you did.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I would have liked to wait until life is a bit calmer in order to read through it with a clear head, but it is what it is...</p><p>Looking ahead the next few weeks may be a bit busy, so I'm not 100% sure how frequently I'll be able to post, but either way I hope you're happily devouring all the incredible fanfiction out there! :)</p><p>xx</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Will falls asleep with a slow calmness, weariness seeping subtly and clandestine though each limb until the heavy blanket of sleep sweeps away his consciousness. His curls fall down in small, soft tufts across his forehead, and long eyelashes cast delicate shadows across his cheekbones. </p><p>Hannibal leans propped up on one elbow, unabashedly observing the man lying before him. The thick curtains remain tied back, so that the gibbous moon hanging high in the dark sheds a silver shadowed glow across the bedroom. A single tendril of moonlight reaches out so as to immerse Will within a luminescent pool, a trail of dancing dust particles floating within its wake. </p><p>Hannibal finds Will to be exquisite, meticulously sculpted roping muscle, boasting swift power and yet such fine, intricate slender. Will has fallen asleep with one hand thrown up beside his turned head, the sheets pooling at his slim waist like the wrinkles and ripples of black water. His most beautiful of mortals. </p><p>Hannibal contemplates the symmetry of existence in the last time Will lay like this before him, tragic and lifeless in the aftermath of fervid becoming. The unforgiving waves had lapped at him hungrily, cheated of this treasure that Hannibal had instead dragged from the watery tomb. Hannibal's eyes flit closed, lids quivering under the rapid movements of recall as his eyes see the memories before him as clearly as if he were back in that very moment; Will tucked against him, the warmth of his thick exhalations coursing across Hannibal's collarbone, ripped from him as the splitting coldness of the ocean enveloped their fragile bodies. Hannibal had been ready to submit, so full of his own rejoice that death no longer posed as a defeat or a cure, the concept no longer driving him to greatness but solidifying his own transformation. </p><p>And yet sinking apace with him was Will’s paling figure, slipping through the flowing water, all too eager to submit himself. Hannibal could see so clearly the tumultuous grace of Will’s design unfurling as the life spilled from their burning lungs together, both relenting to the darkness of finality in each other's inevitable company. It was a beautiful design. In theory he would have had it no other way, and yet Hannibal could not help but to unravel it, unfairly snatching Will’s crafted fate from his grasp again to take the reins in his own hold. </p><p>And so Hannibal had dragged them both from the underbelly of the roiling Atlantic to the raging reality that lay at its surface, the pain of his broken body and the scorching tightness of his lungs asserting themselves as he broke past the churning waves, Will in his grasp. He had towed Will towards the shore, finding only the energy to haul his body up through wet scraping sand before slumping beside him, their legs still jostled by the breaking, foaming waves. Then, like now, Will had been bathed in the iridescent moonlight, alabaster and angelic. Yet then he had lain soaked and glistening, a siren whose fatal song had gone silent, though not before entrapping Hannibal himself. </p><p>There is a vast, cavernous room in the depths of Hannibal's mind palace where his sentience now wanders. The ceiling is a patchwork of deep starry blue, the room forever dark, lit only by the small pinpricks of light from above. The high golden arched doorway opens out instantly into the wrathful, seething ocean, that if a creeping stranger were to wander the vast halls of the palace and happen upon this particular room, once entering it they would fall immediately to a violent, drowning death. The walls are all black, the room thus seeming endless and inevitable, aside from the looming clifftop stretching far up into the sky so that its pinnacle appears to bind with and blot out the stars above. </p><p>Since its fabrication Hannibal has begun to frequent this room, his foreboding silhouette standing underneath the doorway and poised on the edge of the frothing water so that salty droplets land and trickle down his shoes. Bellowing wind ruffles his usually immaculate hair and rushes out into the quiet corridors of the palace beyond. He comes here when the turmoils of his mind threaten to overwhelm his carefully crafted neutrality. He does not come because the enraged ocean or the blustering darkness provide him with calm, though at times it evokes something not unlike it. He comes because the furious chaos meets that of his own mind - grounding him in a sense of consistent harmony. </p><p>He also comes because Will is here. Sometimes Hannibal finds him endlessly sinking, his ivory form tossed about beneath the water. Hannibal will curiously quirk his head and watch as Will drowns - always quietly yet always painfully - admiring the elegance of such an end and contemplating his reasons for preventing it. On occasion as he descends, Will’s brilliant eyes flick open, pleading up at Hannibal as the life drifts from the cracks in his bone and the cuts in his veins. Hannibal does nothing, simply standing to watch as the flashes of agony, confusion and then lonely betrayal flick like frames within Will’s piercing gaze, evoking Hannibal's own loneliness. He acknowledges his own conflicting emotions - the self-disparage, the yearning and the inquisitiveness - and rides them. <br/>He is not shocked at his somewhat indifference, as this Will is not his - he is a copy, an impersonator. His Will is fastened in reality. And yet Hannibal cannot help but return here again and again, as <em>his</em> Will is so much further away than this impostor. Always just out of reach, taunting and tormenting, always evading the transformation Hannibal had so keenly laid out for him. Maddening, his Will. </p><p>At other times, Will’s dark outline stands in the long distance atop the cliff’s precipice, his eyes boring into Hannibal’s own, though too far away to realistically see. Hannibal stands for hours, watching Will watching him, the two men locked in an impenetrable conflict of maroon and pale blue, until Will tumbles over the edge, falling all too calmly to his demise as Hannibal’s core lurches with him.<br/>Will did not heed the words of Daedalus, too overcome by the thrill of his becoming to fly away from danger. Instead he flew too close to the sun, the dregs of his flight burning, sending him tumbling into the waves to suffocate. </p><p>The darkened, stormy room flakes away as Hannibal’s eyes flutter once again open, focusing on the man curled up beside him. Will’s body has now become hunched in sleep, his eyes dancing behind their shutters as he is plagued by his dreamworld. His own mind-palace, more unbridled and feral than Hannibal’s own. For the past few days, be it only a small period of observation, Hannibal has not sensed the same dreaded night-terrors that used to play upon the younger man. Now though, Will seems trapped anew in his unconscious landscape, his fine features flickering with discomfort. </p><p><em>God's creatures who cried themselves to sleep stirred to cry again</em>.</p><p>The young man’s chest expands and contracts in a dragging rhythm, the firm muscles of his torso and arms flexing with every distressed twist. His smooth skin begins to glitter as it breaks out in a sheen of sweat, a slight whimper settling against his lips. An irritatingly sizable part of Hannibal wishes to draw Will’s lean frame to his own chest, graze his fingers through his delicate curls, pressing gentle murmurs of endearment into the soft locks. This instinct however is overpowered by his merciless curiosity at the anguished nymph-like form before him, daintily plush features twisted in unnatural beauty. <br/>He watches the sleeping man as Thanatos watches dying mortals, patient, gentle and ominous. </p><p>Only when Will starts himself into partial awareness, panting and scrabbling within the twisted sheets, does he reach out to placate the younger man, still disorientated and half-asleep. Hannibal eases him back down, enfolding him within his arms to purr gentle reassurances into his ear, fluid Lithuanian flowing easily from between his lips. Never fully waking, Will sinks back down into restfulness, not quite slackening into Hannibal's embrace, ever resistant to accept this reality completely - even in sleep.</p><p>And yet Hannibal too cannot fully submit himself to the embrace either, the precious ease of complete faith for the man before him damaged. This is a thought Hannibal has never allowed himself to dwell upon too deeply before, allowing it to rest just at the brim of his subconsciousness where his pride abides it.  Will had puppeteered so easily the strings of Hannibal’s inner ache without becoming fully aware of the sheer might of his sway or intentions. A blind virtuoso, too carried away in the melody of his own absent making to wake from his trance and recognize how powerful it had become. </p><p>Hannibal had seen this tendency in Will, seen it as he blew nine cavities into the chest of Garret Jacob Hobbes, when he tore Randall Tier limb from limb. He had seen it in his blind love for Abigail. And despite Hannibal's best insight’s he gladly had ignored it as Will directed his siren's song at Hannibal himself, tempting him with promises of darkness and becoming, until the abrasive scent of Freddie Lounds had broken the illusion. Hannibal had not been surprised, had not even been angry - Will had already warned him of his betrayal though his imploring regard from across the confines of Hannibal’s office. Hannibal had been broken. </p><p>And so when Will came heedlessly back to reclaim the podium of Hannibal existence, the older man found himself initially entranced, yet thereafter tortured by the deceiving promise of companionship dangled again in front of his beguiled mind. His carefully placed noose still lay limp yet waiting around Will’s porcelain neck, as did Will’s around his own, and yet where it once lay there with purpose and satisfaction, it had only symbolized the dissonance of Hannibal’s mind. Should he maintain his easy machiavellian grip on Will’s beautiful mind, or step into the unknown of Will’s genuine exploits, whether they be fondly or cruelly intimate. Hannibal’s disconcertion arose as for once in his life he was unwilling to discard either option, remaining instead within a grey-scape of uncertainty. </p><p>Until Will had run his slender and calloused across his chest, blue eyes brimming with sad innocence, unaware of the reins that Hannibal had placed in his hands, and even if he had been, unsure of how to use them. Will was still fighting with his moral compass, still appalled by his dreams. And it was in that instant that Hannibal’s decision was made, despite all his instincts to the contrary he could not help but cut the noose around his beloved's throat. Because while that fragment of Will still utterly loathed his own callings, his connection to the older man overrode that loathing. Hannibal was under no illusion that Will had truly and completely resigned to him before that moment. Of course Will had become again uncertain a second later, sliding back across the sofa to his muddled torment.</p><p>Hannibal’s nose twitches. He grounds himself back within this night, reminiscent musings cast aside for the moment, all his multitudinous trains of thought focused intently on the unfolded events of the past few hours. Hours where he had lost his control.</p><p>Among many beatific and elated solaces, Hannibal also experiences tinges of remorse. His long cultivated intentions have been to take Will slowly, savoring the intriguing man’s every breathless utterance, every pleading curse and desperate groan. Watch as the carefully sculpted man came undone before him. Instead he had loosened his hard-fought control for only a second, and yet it had been a single second long enough to lose himself in lust. Will had met Hannibal’s unrestrained appetite magnificently, even exceeding Hannibal’s predictions. His partner had completely radiated, strewn across the sheets as the Creazione di Adamo. Hannibal had been tormented for too long to hold back. <br/>He surveys the younger man spread beside him, limbs cast and twisted dramatically, sinking back into a peaceful slumber. Hannibal draws two bent knuckles along the prominent bone of Will’s cheek. He decides there will be a next time, another chance for him to redeem his own hastful foolishness. He has discovered something far too precious to let slip through his fingers. </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Will feels as if a stake has been driven through his navel, twisting and pressing deeper, splinters breaking off the wooden tool and wedging themselves into his guts. He starts, dirt crumbling into his mouth as he attempts to draw air into his tight lungs. He can feel his lungs wringing themselves within his chest. He is underground, buried somehow. He does not remember how he got here. He tries to calm the panic gushing through his system and slow his breathing; If he is buried he will have only a small amount of oxygen trapped between loose clumps of dirt. Having no idea which direction might possibly be up, his aching fingers simply claw at the silty muck in front of him, enclosing fistfuls of grit within sweaty palms and shoving it behind him. His body shivers as waves of cold and heat wash over him. The earth, assuming that is where his limp body has awoken, seems to be vibrating with a threatening energy. </p><p>Amidst his efforts to dig, Will had so stopped multiple times to blink dust and grime from his eyes, tears spilling out from between clenched lids, only to catch on the dirt pressing in all around him. With every small movement the pain in his stomach ignites, sending sparks running through his nervous system, draining him of the little energy he’s managed to maintain. Just as the flashes of pain begin to dull and the searing pulse of his oxygen deprived lungs start to give way to stillness, a single fist breaks though the soils surface, replenishing Will’s sense of self preservation. He scrabbles to widen the hole, broken nails digging into grass as he hauls himself up. Nearly there. Small bursts of oxygen begin to reach his deprived lungs. </p><p>And then Will jolts again. He is no longer pulling himself up onto land, but standing solidly upon it. He glances around, his whole body twisting as the sudden change of position capsizes his sense of reality. He is standing in a field at night, in the distance the outline of his home in Wolf Trap floats like a boat upon misted water. </p><p>A pained wail asserts itself to his left, and Will focuses his slowly widening tunneled vision towards it. An emaciated, corporeal form drags it’s way from beneath the ground, dirt sticking to the damp body like iron filings to a magnet. Will stills, both terrified and disgusted by the lilting form. Once fully emerged from its grave, the figure raises a scraggy head, eyes meeting Will’s own. Will finds himself staring into his own blue orbs, orbs that reflect the gruesome satisfaction of a sick man. The zombie-like Will drags itself to it’s feel, hunched and leering. Blood pours from a smile etched into its stomach, far too much blood, until the field becomes one gigantic pool of thick red, Will and the living-dead reflection of him standing ankle deep in the copper scented liquid. Will gags at the crazed grin of the replica before him. It opens parched lips, still grinning around rasping words.</p><p>“Why’d you bury me Will?”</p><p>It’s Will’s voice, thick and gravelly but his own all the same. And then the sneering face twists in on itself, the body disformed and writing until it’s no longer Will’s reflection staring at him from across the blood river, but the Great Red Dragon, his crimson wings spread out behind him like a flowing extension of the pool at their feet. Will can’t move, his feet frozen and heavy, even as the Dragon lurches towards him, even as Hannibal’s sultry voice sounds from behind his ear. </p><p>“Look at our creation Will. Look at the masterpiece that we have painted together.”</p><p>Will desperately wants to turn, to face Hannibal, and yet cannot turn away from the Dragon and his now crumpled face, screaming in agony as he hurtles forward. The force of the Great Red Dragon’s pursuit stirs up the sea of blood, great waves of it crashing and thumping around the two figures as if spurred on by a hurricane. The sound is deafening. And yet Francis in all his pained fury doesn’t reach Will, continuously closing the distance between them and yet never getting any nearer. A petrifying pursuer before Will, yet never alleviating Will’s terror by reaching his target. Will’s stomach twists as Dolarhyde’s screams become louder, his terror and victimhood mingling with the pain. </p><p>Again Hannibal purrs at Will from behind, the all-encompassing stimuli threatening to overwhelm his sanity.</p><p>“This is your becoming, the symbol of our unification. Look at what we could impart upon the world. Achilles and Patroclus left wild and free to conquer Troy, unhindered by the restrains of any god or mortal.”</p><p>Will scrunches his eyes shut, desperate to escape from the scene before him, yet the Dragons agonized expression is etched into the backs of his eye lids. He shakes his head, a stunted to and fro. </p><p>“This is too much Hannibal. I’m not capable of this destruction. This is your creation.”</p><p>“You must cease painting me as the sole proprietor of such dark associations, with the persistence of an adolescent. Your empathy for me can only excuse so much joy in this creation, all the rest is your own.”</p><p>“These are not simply associations Hannibal, we overstepped that boundary long ago.”</p><p>“Yes <em>we</em> did.” </p><p>Will almost screams himself. The blood is everywhere now, blown into his hair, seeping through his clothing, coated upon his hands. </p><p>“Blood on your hands Will. Just as there was that night as you clung within our embrace upon the clifftop. Blood on your hands then and now. Blood that you smeared there.”</p><p>Will shakes his head again, almost unconsciously dragging his hands down the dripping fabric of his shirt, evoking a pitiless taunt from the presence of Hannibal behind him. </p><p>“<em>All the perfumes of Arabia will now sweeten this little hand.</em>”</p><p>The rushing figure of Dolarhyde twists again, morphing into the face of lip-man, of Randell Tier. A strangled whimper escapes Will’s lips as the morphing flesh takes on the face of Abigail, screaming her own tortured aria. </p><p>“Please don’t make me do this Hannibal.”</p><p>“You chose me Will, you chose this, and you cannot shy away from the darker corners of that choice.”</p><p>“I didn’t want this.”</p><p>“Then why did you fight so hard for it beloved? Why did you tear and shred at your own beautiful mind until I had no choice but to sew up the pieces? Why did you betray and yet return, destroy and yet rejoice in that destruction?”</p><p>Will sinks to his knees, eyes still fixed upon Abigail, blood pouring from the twin smiles in her throat and abdomen. </p><p>“I don’t know.”</p><p>And then Abigail scatters like confetti to blow away on the wind. The towering, roaring waves of blood subside, sinking back down into the calm sea of red. Will kneels empty in the endless blood-ocean. Hannibal's murmurs thrum from every direction, a single chain of deep accented Lithuanian softly filling his eardrums. Will relaxes down into the warm liquid beneath him, closing his eyes and allowing Hannibal to draw him into the calm of this stream. </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Will wakes to scattered, slipping sheets and a lonely bed. He fists at his eyes, rubbing away the sleep dust collected in the corners of his blurred vision. His blinks at the empty room, curtains drawn so as to cut off morning rays of light, through a few thin beams pierce through the cracks, casting the dim room in grey shadow. Will’s skin feels subtly tight, as it used to after a long night of tortured dreaming, the layers of sweat culminating and drying upon his skin. Will remembers dreaming, though about what he has no idea. Will stills himself, waiting for his throat to plummet, the sick clammy feeling of regret and disgust to sink in. He can feel it somewhere, as if it were trained to bombard him after every new encounter with Hannibal. Yet this usual disparage doesn’t bubble to the surface. Will feels warm and mellow. </p><p>Hannibal was beautiful. And not just in his enthralling physicality. Will was not taken aback, albeit wholly captivated, by the rolling muscle or golden skin. Yet he would be lying to himself if he pretended that Hannibal’s raw emotion had not startled him. Love and fear, both flowing and crackling between the two like sparks within charged wire, their connection clear for once. <br/>These are the associations that Will had started to become aware of in Baltimore, pacing to and fro within Hannibal's brightly coloured office. Associations that frightened him, yet peaked his curiosity, assuring that they would quench his loneliness and spark his excitement. Will is relieved at having finally connected with Hannibal, the man who stands awestruck at the morbid artistry of existing, who sat pretentious beside him and debated teacups and time, the rules of disorder. Rooting for Mephistopheles and contemptuous of Faust. And yet his attachment to the man who sits in wonder at the tormenting agony of those with lesser intellect, design their demise and leave them to suffer as he peers down in amusement still tugs at Will’s morality. </p><p>Will rubs at his eyes again, no longer to rid them of blurriness but out of sheer frustration over his fickle mind, always overthinking just that one step too far. Hannibal had been right, amidst the overflowing darkness of the orchestra a switch had been clicked, Will’s fate tied to Hannibal’s as he became resolute in his wish for connection to the dangerous man. Will’s righteousness is of course still rebelling against this finality. Will had expected this, and while it remains ever frustrating would have been remotely worried if it had suddenly disappeared. His morality is his unfettered gauge, his assurance that his mind still ticks clearly. </p><p>Will eases his legs over the side of the bed. He can’t help but stifle a moan as he stands, his legs and abdomen screaming in protest. He ignores them - an unnerving yet willing sacrifice for the previous night. He halfheartedly searches the floor for his discarded clothes, deciding that Hannibal must have already gathered them up to clean. Will rolls his eyes at the pedantic habits - the outfit had barely been worn a single evening. Instead he throws on a pair of dark pants and a white collared shirt from within the wardrobe of horrendously coloured shirts and dizzyingly patterned ties, feeling his typical need to rebel against Hannibal's uniquely targeted lifestyle. A ball of nervousness tightens within his lower abdomen as he reaches for the door handle, the cool metal twisting in his fist as he pushes the door open.</p><p>Like the previous morning, Hannibal sits at the large polished dining table. This time however he is seated facing Will, looking up to greet him with a warm smile as the younger man emerges from his grotto. Will falters for a millisecond before returning the smile, ducking his head in doing so as a hot blush invades his cheeks. God, why is he blushing? <br/>From under his eyelashes Will can discern a hefty looking manuscript lying open on the table in front of the older man, alongside a small glinting knife. Hannibal picks up the latter, the thin blade sliding through a ripened pear in his other palm like butter, before pressing a small chunk of the pale flesh into his mouth. </p><p>Will peeks back up at Hannibal through half lidded eyes, the older man seemingly once again distracted by the manuscript. Will realizes now that he isn’t reading the volume, but filling the large cream pages with his own curving copperplate, navy blue visconti pen clasped between fingers. Will watches as the veins in his hands ripple as the ink snakes it’s way across crisp pages. Franz Schubert’s Fantasia in F minor resonates throughout the room, spilling out from a record player perched upon the coffee table, bearing remarkable resemblance to the antique piece that had occupied Hannibal's home in Lithuania. Will wonders whether Hannibal has in fact flown the machine between countries at his leisure. Will wouldn’t put it past him.  </p><p>Will pads barefooted over to the balcony, snatching up a pack of free cigarettes from a hotel cabinet and leaning again as he had done the day before against the open door frame to survey the streets beyond. The people below look like figurines, so busily preoccupied with their lives, unaware of the dark devil seated a only few meters above them. The devil and his <em>companion.</em>. Will frowns at his inner narrator. Hannibal indeed accumulates his followers, those that portray facades of goodness and innocence yet bow to his every whim. One particular follower clouds his mind and Will’s gut churns in resentment as the blond springing locks and ostentatious poise of Bedelia swims into view. Her victimhood so cleverly cultivated, despite rabid curiosity driving her to trail after the beast of her own enthusiastic accord. Will feels a pang of guilt as he parallels Du Maurier’s devious intentions to his own. He would like to think that his actions however are spurred out of anything other than deviousness. He would also like to think that he is less a follower, an extension of Hannibal’s own manipulations, and instead his own independent force. <em>Satan has his companions, fellow-devils, to admire and encourage him; but I am solitary and detested.</em>.  </p><p>And yet he knows than in claiming his independence, he must also take culpability for his violent actions. </p><p>He lights the cigarette, bringing it to his lips to take a long drag, nicotine curling though his lungs. Will hasn't smoked in years, even when he was indulging more consistently, it would only ever be once every month or so. Only in the moments when his loneliness reached unbearable levels, so required a joint while sitting on the window ledge in order to fabricate an image that met his melancholia. He winces at the mental picture of the smoke filling his insides, inflaming his airways, and takes another long suck. He imagines that Hannibal has never touched a cigarette in his life, though the image of him with one balanced between his knuckles, leaning smugly against the curving wall of the Colosseum and cocking his head in superiority fit’s his persona somewhat. </p><p>Will’s train of thought faults as a cool hand comes to rest upon his shoulder. Will feels a chill run up his spine at how Hannibal had moved so silently across the room, coming up directly behind him without once gracing Will’s awareness. </p><p>“Can you hear the music Will, or have you slipped too deep into the recesses of your mind?”</p><p>Hannibal’s soft growl sounds just behind his ear, ticking his neck as he nudges into Will’s curls. The position niggles at a memory in Will, though for now he’s unable to recall it. Will unconsciously shifts his weight, leaning further back against the older man. His own response is soft and mellow, an absent answer to the rhetorical question.  </p><p>“I’m slipping further and further.”</p><p>A short huff flutters the short curls at the base of Will’s neck. </p><p>“Tell me?”</p><p>Will tilts his head to the side in a small twitch, his corresponding chuckled tinted less by humor and more by reservation. </p><p>“For now I think I’d rather maintain my air or mystery if you don’t mind.”</p><p>A long pause stretches between the two men, the only sounds that of Hannibal’s measured breathing and the light melody emanating from the record player, the sound becoming ever louder as Will stills his mind. Will can almost detect vibrations running out from the older man as the wheels and cogs of his mind tick. </p><p>“You are contemplating your intentions, attempting to fathom the skin cultivated by this new life.”</p><p>Will doesn’t respond, his silence a needless affirmation in itself. </p><p>“You are radiant in your violence mylimasis, violence that comes to you so fluidly. There are no rules to your disorder, only liberty and seamlessness.”</p><p>“And yet afterwards there is only shame and disparage.”</p><p>“But is that <em>your</em> voice of indignation Will? You have been so masterfully shaped by Jack Crawford and those before him, regret hammered into you as an automatic response to the brutality that they so unremorsefully ask you to immerse yourself in. Hypocrisy at it’s finest.”</p><p>“Have you not also shaped me Dr Lecter? I’d say even more masterfully than Jack. ”</p><p>“I have influenced you. You harbor a great susceptibility to Jack's virtuous manipulations, thus I put it upon myself to counter that manipulation, present to you your darker tendencies. One of the greatest failures of humanity is the resistance to fully discover itself. Do you feel amity in your new-found and absolute understanding Will?”</p><p>“I feel...refined. I feel both horrified and tranquil in that refinement.”</p><p>Hannibal hums but doesn’t vocalize whatever pondering that Will’s sentiment provides. He moves along to stand beside Will, their shoulders touching as they gaze out across the early morning streets.</p><p>“Whose screams did you hear last night Will?”</p><p>Will wonders whether his dream had been lively enough to wake Hannibal, or whether the older man simply maintained his alertness throughout most of the night. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter. Hannibal’s thoughts would have been gushing, rebounding against the confines of his skull as his philosophical musings overturned their passionate encounter. Will is surprised that his own messy mind didn’t have more to contemplate, instead sinking quickly into sleep, however guesses that his dreams may have picked apart the night's events instead. He still can’t recall specifics of the nightmares, yet at Hannibal's question the faint memory of pained wails sound within the base of his skull.  </p><p>“Mine.”</p><p>“Only your own?”</p><p>Cries of Dolarhyde, lip-man, Tier. Abigail. Hannibal’s drawl speaking persuasions behind his ear. </p><p>“Yes. My screams, and your voice.”</p><p>“I wonder how long before your voice joins my own.”</p><p>Will resists the urge to turn towards the older man, his eyes instead focusing on the filigree arches and brick facades of Bruges, though his lips curl malevolently. </p><p>“Or your screams join mine.”</p><p>It’s Hannibal who turns his body inwards to face his companion, meeting Will’s twisted smirk with his own delighted one. He extends a hand out towards the other, Will thinks to graze long fingers through his hair, however reaches instead for the cigarette that Will holds close to his mouth. Hannibal brings the cigar to his own arched lips, languidly drawing the smoke into his lungs, deep eyes never letting Will’s go, and exhaling in a billow of smoke that mists his expression.</p><p>“I look forward to it.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Not much plot here I know, just feels. </p><p>Sorry for the wait, February always piles up BUT I did have time to go see 'Another Round' which is finally out in our Cinemas!!! Love, love Mads!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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